Quotes About Self-pity

I used to have a real problem with self-pity. Every time the devil would throw a pity party, I would attend.

Yes, in the sense that I felt a certain contentment. Not always, mind you. I moaned and groaned from time to time. But I was never downright depressed again, probably because I realized that sadness comes from feeling sorry for yourself and happiness from joy.

His feelings towards Feirrera were not only of contempt and hatred; there was also a sense of pity, a common feeling of self-pity of two men who shared the same fate. Yes, they were just like two ugly twins, he suddenly reflected as once he looked at Ferreira's back. They hated one another's ugliness; they despised one another; but that's what they were -- two inseparable twins.

Shit, he said. I don't know why you're feeling sorry for yourself because you ain't had to fight a war. You're lucky. Shit, all you had was that damn Desert Storm. Should have called it Dessert Storm because it just made the fat cats get fatter. It was all sugar and whipped cream with a cherry on top. And besides that, you didn't even have to fight in it. All you lost during that was was sleep because you stayed up all night watching CNN.

...trade the life of self pity, that I was living, for a life of purpose! - Rebekah -

If I could do my life over, I would try to cleanse at least my pleasures of self-pity.

Any area you slough off in your life will reflect in your meditation. Be happy when you could be depressed. Push jealous, fear, and anger out of your mind. Don't feel sorry for yourself.

Quick point: If you've been trained on the "Five Whys" of problem solving or selling, that's not what we're talking about here. Those are useful and appropriate. What we're referring to are questions that begin with "Why" and have the "poor me" tone that leads straight to the classic pity party.) Anyone

to sit in the comforting darkness and reek of Jeyes Fluid to weep and grope their way in hatred and self-pity back to some sort of calm.

It is possible to erase and mortify yourself to the point where you actually make more work for the people around you, because they are constantly doing emotional labor to support you. A well-developed martyr complex becomes a means of getting attention without ever having to take the emotional risks of asking for attention. It's a tendency, along with self-pity, that I use my rightminding to control.

I often gave way to self-pity. "Do I deserve this? I suppose I must. I wouldn't be here otherwise. Was there a moment when I actually chose this? I don't remember, but there could have been." What's wrong about self-pity, anyway? With my legs dangling down familiarly over a crater's edge, I told myself "Pity should begin at home." So the more pity I felt, the more I felt at home.

I shrugged, annoyed. How could I expect him to understand the philosophers I read? I expected his derision. And that was why I tried to avoid conversations about my research, I thought with triumphant self-pity. That was why I was less and less able to have conversations with people outside of my profession. I felt miserable, but also satisfied at having my rightness proven.

Self-pity is... a sinkhole from which no rescuing hand can drag you because you have chosen to sink.

Self-pity is the hens' besetting sin," remarked Mr. Payton. "Foolish fowl. How they came to achieve anything as perfect as the egg I do not know! I cannot fathom.

Suffering had had an effect with which she was familiar. The refusal of self-pity and despair had turned it from lead to fire, burning up the subterfuges and dishonesties below the surface of the inherited veneer of manners and thought that most men and women think are their true selves, and the veneer with them.

She was shamed. Women like herself, sheltered, indulged, secure, beloved; and yet they dared to find life hard, they dared to pity themselves because the path they trod was strewn with pink rose-petals when their own choice would have been crimson. She hated herself. Her hatred choked her, and she could not speak.

The desolation in her voice seemed to open a sort of pit at Nadine's feet. She was shamed. Women like herself, sheltered, indulged, secure, beloved, and yet they dared to find life hard; they dared to pity themselves because the path they trod was strewn with pink rose petals when their own choice would have been crimson. She hated herself. Her hatred choked her and she could not speak.

The best of our theater is standing on tiptoe, striving to see over the shoulders of father and mother. The worst is exploiting and wallowing in the self-pity of adolescence and obsessive keyhole sexuality. The way out, as the poet says, is always through.

Nowadays the standards had plummeted so far that I failed even at being a failure. I silently packed up. Nothing else was left. They had even robbed me of self-pity

Ugly, he thought. Very, very ugly. And he was, at that moment, almost overcome with self-pity. He was dirty and starving and bitten and hurt and lonely and ugly and afraid and so completely miserable that it was like being in a pit, a dark, deep pit with no way out. He sat back on the bank and fought crying. Then let it come and cried for perhaps three, four minutes. Long tears, self-pity tears, wasted tears.

most important rule of survival, which was that feeling sorry for yourself didn't work.

He did not know how long it took, but later he looked back on this time of crying in the corner of the dark cave and thought of it as when he learned the most important rule of survival, which was that feeling sorry for yourself didn't work.

most important rule of survival, which was that feeling sorry for yourself didn't work. It wasn't just that it was wrong to do, or that it was considered incorrect. It was more than that—it didn't work. When he sat alone in the darkness and cried and was done, all done with it, nothing had changed.

which was that feeling sorry for yourself didn't work.