Quotes About Frustration

Hay algo especialmente terrible en el hecho de que te digan una y otra vez que tienes la vida más maravillosa del mundo y que ni siquiera así esa vida mejore y siga siendo una mierda.

Picture how bitterly hordes of the frustrated, disappointed, and dispossessed would greet any complaint about being too satisfied and too wealthy. Be that as it may, it really isn't a very nice sensation not to want anything. Thwarted hopes are no picnic, but desire itself is energizing.

maybe it's inevitable that the very things that first attract you to someone are the same things with which you later grow irritated.

There's something especially terrible about being told over and over that you have the most wonderful life on earth and it doesn't get any better and it's still shit.

Her cooking was terrible, her English minimal, and so their Sabbath dinner conversation was mostly her gesturing toward seconds of overdone meat and underdone potatoes while he pantomimed being full. Every so often she got up to yell at the cat in Yiddish.

I don't know why I'm always screwing up at everything, even when I try so hard, all the time, not to. I'd do better if I could, I really would. But I don't know how. There are a lot of things I don't know.

can never have what you really want

The human memory is such a cruel, frustrating thing, the way it just discards things without asking permission, precious things. At least here, in my house, I have control over my memories.

That was how she'd once viewed her perfect life: as a series of bad smells and unfulfilled duties, petty worries and late bills.

She pictures his face, the way his jaw clenches together when he's displeased about something, the way his fist comes down upon inanimate objects when he's annoyed, the flare of his nostrils, the entitled tilt of his chin as he surveys the object of his displeasure.

The baby is starting to grumble. Kim sits still in her chair and holds her breath. It's taken her all night to get him to sleep. It's Friday, a sultry midsummer night, and normally she'd be out with friends at this time.

want to get away from these two, now. Their energy is so toxic, I'm virtually choking on it. And I've had enough of this guy continuously banging on my phone screen with his big meaty finger.

you. We didn't have sex for the last ten days of our holiday, you said you thought you'd married a fucking stranger, and now you're acting like none of that ever happened. You're … you're … offering me wine and … and stirring things. I just don't understand. I don't understand what's happening

And you – you get to swan off every day to your precious little studio, and make your pretty little necklaces with your lovely daddy at the end of the fucking line ready to bail you out every time you go into the red and your lovely little mortgage-free apartment and – and your youth and you have no idea, you literally have no idea about anything, Rachel. You're a fucking child.' Michael ripped the duvet away from himself and stalked to the bathroom.

Yes. It's terrible. Only slightly more terrible than a husband who doesn't come home for a dinner that his wife has cooked for him and spends the whole night out somewhere in his work clothes.

Shit. Sorry. It was on silent,' he mimics her. 'What the sort of mother goes out without telling anyone and leaves their phone on silent?

So here's me, working my-fucking-self to death, day in day out, never spend a penny on anything, not a fucking penny. Single-handedly trying to get us a place to live, and you're just going to the pub with some slag called Keziah who I've never even fucking heard of.

There's a heat contained within their exchange, created from the energy of desperation and loss and frustration and misguided hope, but also from the intimacy that's built up between the two of them as everything else has peeled away from them and the thing that unites them.

and you know my alarm goes off at six thirty yet you couldn't even wait for half an hour because you're too fucking selfish. So yes, thanks a lot, Nathan. I've had four hours' sleep and now I have to get our kids up and get them ready for school and

Alix knows that she deserves better than being abandoned by her husband twice a week while he gallivants around spending money on tequila shots and hotel rooms, that she deserves her messages to be replied to, her calls answered, a proper explanation for the absence of her husband for twelve straight hours. She knows it, but somehow the pendulum of pros versus cons keeps swinging back to the pros.

The knot in Kim's stomach hardens and she turns to Megs and she says, 'What the fuck is the matter with you? Huh? I mean, what the fuck is the fucking matter with you? Our kids have been missing for three days. Three days! And all you can do is moan and tut and sigh and act like this is all some kind of massive inconvenience. Well, I'm so sorry to drag you out of the pub, out of your back garden, so sorry to keep you from getting on with your day.

last night. As far as I know.' Meg groaned. 'You're all fucking useless

Evie," he whispered, "you're so warm, so lovely…oh, hell. I've got two months, thirteen days and six hours before I can take you to my bed. Little she-devil. This is going to be the death of me.

The sight of a sullen teenager is common no matter where you go. Teenagers want things so powerfully and can never seen to get them, and to add insult to injury, people make light of your feelings because you are a teenager. They say time will mend a broken heart and they're often right. But not where my feelings for Hardy were concerned.