Quotes About Frustration

trust no one, everything breaks, nothing works as advertised, and if anything can go wrong, it will.

The local farmers, of course, were bitching because the bean and corn harvests were going to be huge and the prices depressed. Of course, if it hadn't rained, they'd be bitching because their crops were small, even if the prices were high. You couldn't win with farmers.

Scratching their nails on the blackboard of futility.

First goddamn chicken we've had to count, and I'm counting the sonofabitch

Fuckin' trash, he thought. Where were the cops when you needed one?

Having some guy shine his flashlight up my asshole isn't gonna improve my addition," he said.

Scratching their fingernails on blackboards of futility.

It's like a fuckin' nightmare," Letty said. "One of those where you're trying to find your school locker and you keep running from one to the next, and it's never yours.

Means headed for Des Moines with the hair sample and Lucas called Robertson, who was working north of I-80. "I got nothing, nothing, and nothing. I thought I had something for a minute, but it turned out to be nothing," he said. "More'n I got," Lucas said. "I never even thought I had something. What'd you think you had?

HADEN WAS WEARING SWEATPANTS and a T-shirt, with flip-flops, his hair wet from a shower, and Virgil said, "I don't want to hear about it. I'm so horny the light socket ain't safe.

THE AFTERNOON was like walking through tar: Lucas tracked down and interviewed the last of Smalls's volunteer staff, and the interview produced nothing. He talked to ICE and Kidd after their testimony, and learned that it had been perfunctory.

Lucas was starting to feel like a yo-yo, and Iowa City was the finger.

After another few days, I noticed I became annoyed whenever I would actually have to ask Asshole for something. How quickly the creepy becomes commonplace.

The idea of spending another six hours with Leon and his farts was more than I could take.

I'm a seething cauldron of disconnected rage on the inside, Lieutenant." "Ah, repression," Keyes said. "Excellent. Try to avoid taking a potshot at me when you finally blow, please." "I can't promise anything, sir," Alan said.

God damn it, Thomas said as he sat down at the table, carrying a tray so piled with food that it was a miracle he could even lift it. Aren't we all just too good-looking for words.

It's not the trees, you dense argumentative spoon

This novel took me rather longer than usual to write, for a number of reasons but one big one being simply that 2017 was a raging trash fire of a year, filled with horrible people trying to do horrible things and often succeeding. It's harder to bear down creatively when the world is burning.

Firebomb the place," Laertes said, from the room he and Brent shared, where he was playing a video game. "No one's firebombing anything," Brent yelled back to Laertes. "Yet," Laertes replied. "You can't firebomb your way out of every problem," Brent said. "You can't," Laertes called back.

Are we there yet?" I asked Joshua. "No," Joshua said. "Are we there yet?" I said. "No." "Are we there yet?" "No." "Are we there yet?" "Yes," Joshua said. "Stop the car.

We're in the wrong universe for fair.

What was your job back on Earth? I've always been curious. I taught eighth-grade math in Tallahassee. Huh, I said. That's not what I expected. Are you kidding? Powell said back. You try teaching algebra to a bunch of little shitheads for thirty-eight years straight. The way I figure it I've got about another decade before my rage from that gets entirely burned up.

Imagine a migraine, on top of a hangover, while sitting in a kindergarten of thirty screaming children, who are all taking turns stabbing you in the eye with an ice pick.

And before that, there was, oh, I don't know, editors experiencing demonic possessions and devouring lagging midlist writers. It's always something.