Quotes About Frustration

A question, doctor, he said. Why doesn't the coyote take the money he spends on bird costumes and catapults and radioactive road runner food pellets and explosive missiles and simply go eat Chinese? He smiled coolly. Why doesn't the coyote simply go eat Chinese food?

At the end of the day the hatred for all of the work is just part of the work

But and so things are slow, and like you they have this irritating suspicion that any satisfaction is still way off, and it's frustrating; but like basically decent kids they suck it up, bite the foil, because what's going on is just plain real; and no matter what we want, the real world is pretty slow, at present, for kids our age.

No horror on earth or elsewhere could equal watching your own offspring open his mouth and have nothing come out.

foamy enthusiasm with which these folks can say what in fact means nothing at all makes her want to put her head in a Radarange

It is at once too noisy and too quiet to do any real work, and I have no ideas that do not seem to me shallow and overwrought.

all that green just sits in the heat and seethes. Like

Oh, Christ, why do you have to grow up into a life like this one? Why do you ever have to want women, want power, make money, make love, keep up a front, sell the act, suck around some booking agent, get gypped on the check—?

Oh, brother wearers of motley, are there not moments when one grows sick of grinning and trembling and the jingling of cap and bells?

They're going to drown me in milk--what a waste of good baby-food!

This is what drives a young writer out of his head, this feeling that nothing is being said.

Mi sueño es agitado. Mis nervios están desquiciados. Mi piel está seca. Mi cabello cae. Mis ojos están apagados. Las uñas de mis manos y mis pies están quebradizas. Estoy envejeciendo. Comienzo a no encontrar gusto en cosa alguna. Empiezo a aburrirme de las cosas buenas, como me aburro de las malas. Estoy muriendo. Estoy muriendo y no tengo hijos.

it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance

The time is out of joint—O cursèd spite, That ever I was born to set it right!

I can hardly forbear hurling things at him.

I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots as a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.

Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am sunburnt; I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a husband!

Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair:

All I can say is, 'Damn the exam!

outrageously at his temples (by then his need to do something had become like a panic, a fierce drive up ward and outward from his self that had begun to cut like flame through the boozy dreamland, the nit-picking, the inertia, the navel-gazing), said loudly and impatiently: "What do you mean there is not a hope in the world?

How simultaneously enfeebling and insulting is an empty page! Devoid

You hate men, you've hated Daddy for years, and the sad thing is that he hasn't known it. And the terrible thing is that you hate yourself so much that you just don't hate men or Daddy but you hate everything, animal, vegetable and mineral.

If I am no longer able to function with you, it is, you understand, due to no lack of virility but because almost everything about you, especially your body, leaves me totally without sensation... I

Cobey had lost his patience and snapped at the dim-witted giant to shut his pie hole