Quotes About Frustration

resting I'm-going-to-kill-someone-and-light-their-house-on-fire face.

But in his soul, he had been a fighter stuck in a desk job. Resentment had made him edgy, and even though he hadn't been aware of it, he had had his eye on the exit every single night. No sight. No exit. And what if that was actually…okay. What if those Hallmark motherfuckers were right. Door closes, window opens.

Fritz picked that moment to breeze in with some warm rolls. She glared at Wrath and pretended she was only reaching across the table for the wine bottle. She wasn't about to march off in front of Fritz. And besides, she suddenly felt like sticking around. So she could yell at Wrath a little longer.

Dumb-ass human, looking at his female like that? The bastard was lucky John was so sexed up. Otherwise he'd have taken the time to break a leg or an arm just to make a point.

There was no tracking the precise words, but there probably weren't any. Sometimes language couldn't go far enough. All you could do was scream.

The poor thing had cowered away from the sides of the pan, blackened on top, and developed drying cracks. It was inedible, better suited to the construction supply trade than to a dinner plate. A few dozen more of these and some mortar and she'd have that wall she wanted around her terrace.

Jesus fucking Christ!" Wrath bit out. "Can we get a break around here?

what say you?" "Fuck," came the reply. "Appropriate word choice, my lord, but not really an answer." Wrath

Wrath, what say you?" "Fuck," came the reply. "Appropriate word choice, my lord, but not really an answer.

No, fuck that shit. That pair of assholes can fuck right off.

Damn it," he muttered as he squeezed his eyes shut. Sure, that shit about his mom was fine. But Lassiter, it appeared, was the race's new boss. Great. Nothing like putting a five-year-old behind the wheel of a car and giving the little shit the car keys. Big ol' angel wingspans aside, the ride, which had already not been all that smooth, was about to get bumpier than a motherfucker.

How he roomed with the fucker was inexplicable.

This shit between them was killing them both, but they were stalled out. Unable to make things work; unable to let things go. It was a mess.

You're such a pain in the ass." "Said the SIG to the Glock.

As her pace through the fountain intensified and her robing started to get soaked, she leaped out of the pool and jogged around, her fists up in front of her, the punches she threw out pumping the air. Being the good, dutiful Chosen was not in her hardwiring, and that was the root of all of the problems between her and her mother. Oh, the waste. Oh, the disappointment. Oh, do get over it, mother dear. Those

Man, destiny sucked ass. It just had to barge in and piss all over everyone's rose garden. And now it was taking a shit in the other flower beds.

The guy took off, which meant short of braining him with the glass, there was no other way of expressing his I-am-an-island opinion. Although really, that would just be a waste of good booze--Qhuinn was so hardheaded, you could have hit his frontal lobe with a crowbar and made no impression on him whatsoever.

Christ. You can be a real pain in the ass, you know that? No impulse control, but totally single-minded. Helluva combination.

Wait, does that mean I can watch Melrose or not? The double negative confused—" "Jesus Christ, will you just go!" Lassiter was muttering as he got to his feet. "How many times do I have to tell you that is not my name." "I need a drink.

You gotta cut that shit out." Lassiter's voice harmonized with the sound of the toilet flushing. Which so made sense. "Christ, don't you ever knock?" "It's Lassiter. L-A-S-S-I-T-E-R. How is it possible you're still getting me confused with someone else? Do I need a nametag?" "Yes, and let's put it over your mouth." -Lassiter & Tohr

Ah, hell, V, you're killing me." Butch O'Neal mined through his sock drawer, looking for black silk, finding white cotton. No, wait. He pulled out one dress sock. Not exactly a triumph. "If I were killing you, cop, footwear'd be the last thing on your mind.

Jesus Christ. This evening, which hadn't even started out so well, had turned into a sixteen-car pileup on the road to relationshipville.

He is such an asshole." "Everyone needs a hobby." Axe shrugged."And he clearly likes pissing you off." "If you tell me to stop encouraging him. I am going to punch you in the junk.

Fucking. A." Well, didn't that just sum it all up nicely.