Quotes About Frustration

he's infuriated that his e-reader allows him to only know the percentage of a book he's read, not the number of pages. This, he thinks, is 92 percent stupid.

This was the world they were meant to enter: a world of fuckers.

After all, you could use your outside voice and scream your head off, but sometimes it didn't seem as if the screaming was being heard.

I open the journal now and pick up the pen, but I can't bring myself to write a word.

Jules had had five sessions with a disheveled social worker named Melinda, who was as kind as the kindest mother, nodding in sympathy while Jules railed against the stupidity of college life. Later, she would barely remember what Melinda had said to her, but at the time her presence had been soothing and necessary,

The problem is that I love men passionately, even though they don't deserve it.

Most of the time I'm like, 'Why do I have to share a gender with you, you piece of shit?' It's like when you have a bad relative who has the same last name.

It's enraging, recalling a dozen, a hundred, a thousand times in my life a man telling me to relax, be a team player, stop worrying so much, take it easy and roll with the punches. We're all on the same team.

The very things that first draw you to a person will eventually be the very things that drive you away.

But she couldn't. They never talked about when Marie moved out, or why. It had been a strained time for all of them and there was no need to stir it all up again. That's what was so enraging about it all, about that contractor bringing it up. About Marie having told him things.

Who needs her here anyway, Dara thought, walking through the front door, that familiar scent of mildew, paste, old perfume. Who needed Marie's buzzy, antic energy, her nighttime pacing and her bad dreams, the way she used all Dara's tampons and ate all the sardines?

I closed my eyes against the sudden sorrow that someone I knew so well should be someone who consistently brought me so much grief.

care desperately in a perversely curious-about-your-sex-life way," Merrick said. "You never tell me anything about your personal life. You don't hit on me. You ignore me when I hit on you. You keep our work relationship professional no matter how hard I try to make it unprofessional. It's like you have integrity or something, and quite frankly, I'm sick of it.

Elliott took a long, deep breath. "Look. We seem to have had a misunderstanding.…" "Really?" Eyes snapping fire, Simone faced him. "Really. A misunderstanding. What part of 'I don't want to see you again, and I don't want you to come to my office' did I misunderstand? Because it seemed pretty fucking crystal to me." He winced. "No. That part was right.

And every time we're together, I tell myself not to hope that this time you'll just fucking see that there is nobody else for you. That you'll give me a chance to prove we're good together,

Fuuuuuuuuck youuuuuuu," Keisha said.

The average american spends six months of his or her life waiting for red lights to turn green. six months wasted, waiting for permission to move on.

It's not my fault that these are the problems I've been put on this earth to deal with, right? They're petty, they piss me off, and they're all mine

Did you know that the average American spends six months of his or her life waiting for red lights to turn green?

This confirms it: I am living with Beavis and sluthead.

Oh, Christ. That's exactly the type of thing that warrants a journal burning.

In six weeks, I'd be packing up all my stuff and getting the hell out of Pineville. But until then, my life at The Mall would really, really suck.

People need to feel that they have been thwarted by circumstances from pursuing the life which, had they led it, they would not have wanted;

To become chronically ill is not only to have a disease that you have to manage, but to have a new story about yourself, a story that many people refuse to hear—because it is deeply unsatisfying, full of fits and starts, anger, resentment, chasms of unruly need. My own illness story has no destination.