Quotes About Frustration

I hate Boston. Nothing but pain in Boston.

I personally think we developed language because of our deep need to complain.

What is that admonition about not attempting to teach a pig to sing? It wastes your time and annoys the pig.

I have stopped painting. I stand in front of the easel, brush in hand, but my mind is blank. It is as if I have been struck by a strange kind of blindness.

I don't feel like playing anymore—all because of that stupid announcement. "Express your gratitude," they'd said. What they take: our rice, our language, our names. What they give: little rubber balls. I can't feel grateful about such a bad deal.

If you don't understand how a woman could both love her sister dearly and want to wring her neck at the same time, then you were probably an only child.

I need someone real, who will be right for me now, here, and soon. Until then I'm lost. I think I am mad at times." Because

I am not hysterical. I'm angry, you pompous toad!." Riona tore away.

But I don't wanna go to the grocery store!" Her forehead connected with the table's surface. "It's a mean nasty place with soccer moms blocking the aisles as they talk to their friends or on their cell phones, kids running and screaming all over the place.AndFred,theproduceguy,fondleshismelons 5o ways to hex your lover 45 while looking at mine. And I'm not allowed to zap any of them!" she moaned. "It's so not fair!

He listened with the mild demeanour of a man who had waited eight years for his town council to draw up a specification for emergency repairs.

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation? You build up hope, but failure's all you've known Remember all the sadness and frustration And let it go. Let it go

Your anger is like the bubbles in a can of soda. The more you're shaken, the more you want to let it out. The longer you keep it in though, the greater the size of the eventual explosion - and the flatter the drink at the end.

I'm losing what i don't deserve..

Why were all the handsome ones always such bastards?

I am a slow worker, but I could have written at least two books more in the time that I have been obliged to spend waiting around public offices and in the back yards of recruiting stations—waiting unnecessarily for unnecessary things.

Why would affluence make him mad?" "Maybe he's mad that this is as good as it gets. Your big house. His good school. I think it's very difficult for kids these days, in a way. The country's very prosperity has become a burden, a dead end. Everything works, doesn't it? At least if you're white and middle class. So it must often seem to young people that they're not needed. In a sense, it's as if there's nothing more to do.

A carpet of despair which lay underneath the levels of fury.

I long ago gave up defending humanity. It's beyond me on most days to defend myself.

But what's so great about being a perfectionist?... You do all this work, and then the stuff you've made just pisses you off.

I kept scrabbling around in myself for this new indescribable emotion, like stirring a crowded silverware drawer for the potato peeler, but no matter how I rattled around, no matter what I moved out of the way, it wasn't there. The potato peeler is always in the drawer after all. It's under the spatula, it's slipped into the fold of the food-processor guarantee -

They were determined to find something mechanically wrong with him - because broken machines are easier to fix. p303

Before I found out for myself, I might have imagined that in the aftermath of personal apocalypse, the little bothers of life would effectively vanish. But it's not true. You still feel chills, you still despair when a package is lost in the mail, and you still feel irked to discover you were shortchanged at Starbucks.

Likewise the innards of my sole telephone socket are disgorged; my uncertain connection to the outside world dangles by two poorly soldered wires, and it often cuts off.

I believe the impulse to write comes out of a failure to communicate by any other means.