Quotes About Frustration

Leaf blowers have taken a world which was, on the whole, a decent place to live, in spite of talk radio, and turned it into a noisy and unpleasant vale filled with atomized bits of vegetal detritus.

One is the frustration that arises when the system falls short of its meritocratic promise, when those who work hard and play by the rules are unable to advance.

al igual que ocurrió con el triunfo del Brexit en Reino Unido, la elección de Donald Trump en 2016 fue una airada condena a décadas de desigualdad en aumento y de extensión de una versión de la globalización que beneficia a quienes ya están en la cima pero deja a los ciudadanos corrientes sumidos en una sensación de desamparo.

I guess this means we're uck-fayed, don't it Mikee?

Those driven by emotion (children, the mentally ill, hormonal men and women alike) don't freak out when they get their way; they freak out when they're not getting their way.

He'd been crazy about her for more years than he cared to admit. Unfortunately, he knew nothing would ever come of it, so he would have to settle for proximity and hope that like a mold or a fungus, he would eventually grow on her.

I often found myself curled up at midday on a hard wooden bench, snoring lightly, drooling on the back of my hand, trying to sleep off my exuberance—and then waking to a headache and a bushel of horrible paragraphs. Admittedly

New Father will go glottal, scrotal, and ballistic on someone driving twenty-seven in a twenty-five-mile-an-hour zone when Baby is astronauted in the backseat.

She thinks they're just incompetence. But, then, she thinks that most things that go wrong are just incompetence.

Si los padres comienzan en la infancia, frustrando las primeras exigencias gritadas, el niño nunca desarrollará el hábito. En nuestra casa los berrinches eran totalmente desconocidos porque desde la primera vez que se intentaban hacíamos que fuera contraproducente.

Aubrey Fitzwilliam hated being dead. It made things much harder than they needed to be.

Glass shot an irritated glance at Red, who had an uncanny knack for spotting problems and an utter inability for crafting solutions.

The jigsaw puzzles have so many missing pieces, we play a game called What the Fuck Is That.

Michael Thomas Ford

i swear to God, that was the question. Sometimes, I think there's someone up there just sitting around thinking of ways to make me look like a complete moron. Seriously, I bet there's an angel or more likely a demon assigned just to me. And every day it gets up and asks itself what it can do to ruin my life. well, today it got an A plus

Being a Trump staffer had become an existential predicament: even if you wanted to get out, and almost all of them did, there was nowhere to go.

Melania sometimes spoke Slovenian with Barron, particularly when her parents were around—and they were frequently around—infuriating Trump and causing him to bolt from any room they were in.

Whitestone became what everyone around Trump had to become—long-suffering—because Trump was always ready to explode with anger. "It's not your fault," said Whitestone. "It's just your turn, was how we put it." "How's the weather?" was the code for the boss's mood.

Sean Spicer, whose job was literally to explain what people did and why, often simply could not—because nobody really had a job, because nobody could do a job.

Trump did not enjoy his own inauguration. He had hoped for a big blowout.

After the bill had been pulled that Friday, Katie Walsh, feeling both angry and disgusted, told Kushner she wanted out. Outlining what she saw as the grim debacle of the Trump White House, she spoke with harsh candor about bitter rivalries joined to vast incompetence and an uncertain mission.

Typos drove him wild. He might lash out for days when he found one, or when someone else, more likely, pointed out a mess-up in a letter or document prepared under his name—the infuriated concern of someone thinking somebody else's laziness might reveal his own weaknesses. He was spitting furious now because the legal brief was filled with botches, the second time in a week this had happened—the Unites States! In the first line! A violent overthrown!

Talking to morons like that is like pissing in a urinal full of cigarette butts, like shitting in a toilet full of Tampax: nothing gets flushed, and everything starts to stink.

All I knew was that once again I found myself alone, with even less desire to live and nothing to look forward to but aggravations.