Quotes About Frustration

To talk to someone who does not listen is enough to tense the devil.

what strikes me most about their stories of missed opportunities and derailed careers is this: The source of their anxiety and frustration is rarely a shortfall in technical or professional expertise. Instead, it invariably stems from a shortcoming in their soft skills repertoire—the nontechnical traits and behaviors needed for successful career navigation.

By George, the next time he found himself on the road all alone late at night, he was going to whistle along to every damn song on the radio. "That'll show them," he snarled, though he had no idea who he'd be showing nor why he nearly tore the knob off when he shut off the radio.

Perhaps I'm the only crazy person in here, but I understand zero - I mean ZERO - of what you said!

One of my many horrors is to become the man with the frayed jacket and unfastened flies standing at the Co-op counter with egg on his shirt and more too because the mirror in the hall has given up the ghost. A shipwrecked man without an anchor in the world except in his own liquid thoughts where time has lost its sequence.

There was always a woman with TB in Remarque's books. Frankly I was a little fed up with it.

Why are people so fucked up?" I asked "Maybe you do need college, Poiter," Everett said. "You want to know why people are so fucked up? Son, that's about the only question I can answer with even a small measure of authority. It's because they're people. People, my friend, are worse than anybody.

I had never heard such bullshit in my life. I opened my mouth and said, "I have never heard such bullshit in my life.

He] did not understand women. It wasn't the way bartenders or comedians didn't understand women, it was the way poor people didn't understand the economy. You could stand outside the Girard Bank Building every day of your life and never guess anything about what went on in there. That's why, in their hearts, they'd always rather stick up a 7-Eleven.

It's only teenage wasteland.

We didn't need light & shade, irony or humor. An iconic Daltrey bellow could convey an extrodinary range of human emotion; withering sadness, self pity, loneliness, abandonment, spiritual desperation, the loss of childhood, as well as the more obvious rage & frustration, joy & triumph.

I was regarded by my parents as having little musical talent other than a thin, nasal soprano voice. I was forbidden to touch my father's clarinets or saxophones, just my harmonica.

Scapegoating is often a reenactment of a parent's abusive role. It is blind imitation of a parent who habitually released his frustration by indiscriminately raging. When a fight type parent scapegoats those around him, he enforces a perverse kind of mirroring. He is making sure that when he feels bad, so does everyone else. It is like a bumper sticker I saw the other day: "If Momma ain't happy, Nobody's happy.

paper-pushers can't figure me out. all they understand is bullshit and politics, which amounts to the same thing.

See? They only get idiots to do these jobs." John G. stands there with his eyelids throbbing. Should he take a swing at the guy? After all, he's got nothing left to lose. On the other hand, this job is the only thing between him and the abyss. Everything else that marked his place in the world is gone. He struggles to decide for a few seconds and then goes back to the motorman's cabin.

Just standing on the slope, waiting, I felt helplessly committed with the other two. I started hating the predicament, and then hating climbing, utterly and in general, and wishing myself out of it.

Balzac clearly is haunted by these Faustian figures, who seek to go beyond what is permitted to ordinary humans, only to reach an impasse where their very medium of expression is blocked or destroyed.

Odio quando qualcuno dice «Capisco». Non significa nulla ed è vagamente aggressivo. Ogni volta che lo sento in realtà mi suona come un «Vaffanculo».

The main problem was I don't like people in general and people my age in particular, and people my age are the ones who go to college.

We are racing down Main Street. Arthur is right on the tail of a blck sedan with tinted windows that won't pull over. He slams the horn. "Arthur," I say. The car doesn't yield. "Arthur," I say. He hits the horn again, still close on the car's bummper. "Arthur, our turn was back there.

I do feel like I have important, beautiful things to say about the world, I just can't think of them at this particular instant.

There are times when parenthood seems nothing more than feeding the hand that bites you.

no era tanto su lógica aplastante como su fe frustrada: no podía perdonarle a Dios que no existiera.

Bollocks! Bollocks, bollocks.