Quotes About Frustration

Tried biting my tongue and being the bigger person in all this, but that didn't really happen...

I'm not on good terms w/certain people anymore and I'm sick of being the bigger person all the time by fixing it. So I give up.

You're hurting me without you knowing...if only I can tell you what I feel maybe it will make a difference.I hate this always at your side but not the girl you want.

I can fill a whole book to tell you how I feel about you, but I know you won't understand.

Frustrated because I can't tell if it's real. Mad because I don't know how you feel. Upset because we can't make it right. Sad because I need you day and night. Angry because you won't take my hand. Aggravated because you don't understand. Disappointed because we can't be together, but still I'll love you forever, and ever.

Frustrated because I can't tell if it's real. Mad because I don't know how you feel. Upset because we can't make it right. Sad because I need you day and night. Angry because you won't take my hand. Aggravated because you don't understand. Disappointed because we can't be together, but still I'll love you forever.

I didn't stop loving you. I just stopped showing it, because no matter how hard I tried, you just wouldn't get it.

What disappoints us most in life is the picture in our heads of how it's supposed to be.

The dream you cherish and nourish in your heart are most noble part of your life. Those who stop dreaming and ignore their instinct are living a life of emptiness and frustration. Don't let this happen to you.

The truth shall make you free, but first it shall make you angry

Life is so confusing, what we want we don't get, what we get we are not satisfied with, what we expect never happens and what we hate generally repeats!

I would not go on anymore weaving my cloths by day and unraveling them again at night, making nothing.

I cannot make her leave, but I can hate her.

Everything they reach for slips from their grasp." A chill shivered across my skin. "How do they bear it?" "As best they can.

Enough," she said, putting a finger on Guy's lips. He opened his mouth and bit it lightly, then began teasing the end of it with his tongue. "Stop it!" she exclaimed, pulling it out and wiping it on his shirt. "You are the limit, Guy Webber, do you know that?

He wants to tear down the sky, he wants to rip every blossom from that tree, he wishes to take a burning branch and drive that pink-clad girl and her nag over a cliff, just to be rid of them, to clear them all out of his way. So many miles, so much road stands between him and his child, and so few hours left.

The dress bunched up like loose skin round her neck. It wouldn't behave, wouldn't act as if it was really hers. Wearing it was like being in a three legged race with someone you didn't like.

Ahora esa persona se ha perdido para siempre. Va a la deriva, no reconoce su propia vida. Está desamarrada, extraviada. Es una persona que llora si no encuentra un zapato, si cuece la sopa más de lo debido o tropieza con un cacharro. Las cosas pequeñas la deshacen. Ya no hay certezas, nada es seguro.

Why is it that twenty-four hours in the company of your family is capable of reducing you to a teenager? Is this retrogression cumulative? Will she continue to lose a decade a day?

The problem is," her brother says, striding through the attic, through the words scattered on the floor, making the curls of paper skitter and swirl around his boots, "that I have no talent for it. I cannot abide waiting.

It is so tenuous, so fragile, the life of the playhouses. He often thinks that, more than anything, it is like the embroidery on his father's gloves: only the beautiful shows, only the smallest part, while underneath is a cross-hatching of labour and skill and frustration and sweat.

Esme looks up, sees the watch in Iris's outstretched hand and shakes her head. She holds up the blue check material and Iris sees that it is a dress, a woollen dress, that it's crumpled and two of the buttons are missing, torn out from the fabric. Esme is shaking it, as if something might be caught in its folds, then casts it aside.

and she picked up the glass from the table and she threw it to the floor, smash. I sat tight on the chair. She stamped her foot, like Rumpelstiltskin, and shouted, I will not go, I will not, you can't make me, I hate him, I despise him.

Agnes would like to tear it all down, rip it up, hurl it to the wind.