Quotes About Frustration

Trying to explain moral principles to Khe Sahn was like reviewing a standard 1040 tax form with a house cat!

Perhaps I worried that if I didn't wander off, my family would get on my nerves, or—far more likely—I would get on theirs, and that our week together wouldn't be as ideal as I'd told myself it would be.

Lisa and I groaned, cursing our stupidity. Once again we'd been duped. There was nothing worse than spending an afternoon on a golf course. We knew what was in store for us and understood that the next few hours would pass like days or maybe even weeks. Our watches would yawn, the minute and hour hands joining each other in a series of periodic naps.

Even sober, she'd rail against that: all the junk my father dragged home and left in the yard or the basement—old newspapers and magazines, toaster ovens picked out of the trash, hoses, sheets of plywood—all of it "perfectly good," all of it just what he needed.

Anyone who does anything even remotely irritating is, from this point on, a Republican.

I have $211 and it doesn't make any sense.

This was for me one of those adult moments involving a choice. Do you shrug your shoulders and say, "I couldn't get it to work either," or do you tell the woman she spent the weekend trying to open a wine bottle with the broken knob to the dishwasher?

Were they to charge you ten cents per napkin, they would undoubtedly make them much thinner so you'd need to waste even more in order to fight back the piping hot geyser forever spouting from the little hole conveniently located in the lid of your cup.

Since receiving my last phone bill I have taken to fastening the telephone to its cradle, using some of the threaded packing tape stolen from what used to be my job. In the rare event of an incoming daytime call I can always grab a knife or scissors, but luckily the task appears to be too strenuous during my ever increasing personal mystery hours. Another problem solved with simplicity and grace.

We're not a horrible couple, but we have our share of fights, the type that can start with a misplaced sock and suddenly be about everything. "I haven't liked you since 2002," he hissed during a recent argument over which airport security line was moving the fastest. This didn't hurt me so much as confuse me. "What happened in 2002?" I asked.

I can see him doing the same thing I am, trying to make some sort of connection. We're like a pair of bad trapeze artists, reaching for each other's hands and missing every time.

There's a short circuit between my brain and my tongue, thus "Leave me the fuck alone" comes out as "Well, maybe. Sure. I guess I can see your point." This

Motherfucker, I ain't seen pussy in so long, I'd throw stones at it.

La vida carecía de sentido y saberlo me atosigaba como a cualquier vecino de un callejón sin salida.

Jesus, look at that idiot! Waters' exec muttered, and the citizen captain shook his head in disgust. Having

Time, time, time . . . Roger muttered. Ask me for anything but time.

Rage swept over her at being young, young and little, as if some evil fairy had put that spell on her. Why must you be locked up in this dreadful cage of childhood for twenty or a hundred years? Nothing in life was possible unless you were old and rich, until then you were only small and futile before your tormentors, desperately waiting for the release that only years could bring.

I hate time travel.

We almost killed ourselves with rage. We would grow up trampling over things, tearing things down, and people would look at us and wonder why we had such violence in our hearts.

I curse the night I let your idiot father squirt you into me.

I couldn't bear to have yet another French speaker guffawing at my name, so when the man on the phone asked, "Can I 'ave your name?" I said, "I am who I am." Half an hour later two pizzas arrived for "Ian Hoolihan".

She looks like what fishermen don't want after hours spent cutting debris out of their nets.

When you can't find a remedy for your pain, you look for someone to blame.

C'est ridicule. On ravale toutes ses larmes pendant des années et voilà qu'on pleure sans raison dans un salon d'essayage de Frank et Fils.