Quotes about angst

I’m with you it’s only me.

Obama's stern demeanor punctuated by intermittent flashes of his wide, relaxing smile is his greatest weapon in defusing pent-up angst.

Don’t run away from me, Logan. I’m not sure why you’re scared every time I try and show you some kindness, but don’t reject me. It’s not easy for me either. I’m not a natural. I’ve forgotten how it feels to put down the barriers and let someone in.

…So, um, you’re from Rochester? Like, New York?” Jersey asked.“Yup, we used to live out there,” Rudger confirmed, nonchalant. “You ever been?”“Naw, the closest I’ve ever been to there would be… well, believe it or not, New Jersey, the place where my parents named me after. It was crowded, polluted and full of crime… I loved it.

It was not only colored people who praised John, since they could not, John felt, in any case really know; but white people also said it, in fact had said it first and said it still. It was when John was five years old and in the first grade that he was first noticed; and since he was noticed by an eye altogether alien and impersonal, he began to perceive, in wild uneasiness, his individual existence.

Angst is not the human condition, it’s the purgatory between what we have and what we want but can’t get.

Confidence is what we get when we take fear, face it and replace it.

Why does it hurt so much? Why does it have to hurt?

Books make the best ersatz friendships.

There's a special quality to the loneliness of dusk, a melancholy more brooding even than the night's.

Mostly she just missed Vaughn. Missed all those quiet, unspectacular moments that, when added up, showed how entwined their lives had become. And right now, she missed being able to phone him, because it would be so easy to tap in the eleven digits that would put his voice on the line. ‘Grace, about bloody time,’ he’d say, and make it sound like an endearment.But she couldn’t call Vaughn, because she’d left him. Which was a novelty, until Grace remembered that he’d have left her eventually if sh

It's my duty as a human being to be pissed off

The way he looks at me makes me ache, but it isn’t fair. He hurt me first. He caused this ache from the start. This inside out, churning pain that feels mental and physical now.I fiddle with my hands, peering up at him again, and all I can think is, God, I wish he’d stop staring at me like that.

My chest ached, my body speaking a language my head didn't quite understand.

Have we become so defensive that we cannot even tolerate a kind act?

Do you know what I see in you now? The usual aura. A steady golden yellow, healthy and strong, with spikes of purple here and there. But when I do this. . . .”He rested a hand on my hip, and my whole body tensed up. That hand moved around my hip, slipping under my shirt to rest on the small of my back. My skin burned where he touched me, and the places that were untouched longed for that

The person she liked best didn't like her enough to want more of her, and she didn't want to pretend that wasn't awful.

You don’t have to have had something to want it or need it but when you have something you liked… very much… and it is taken away, and you want it back, it can become a hunger.

Love, he thinks, is a lie that people tell each other in order to make the world bearable. He is not up for the lie anymore. And nobody is going to lie to him like that, anyway. He's not even worth a lie.

Stacey muttered, "But I hate this school, and this city, and the sooner I leave, the better. I want to start over in a new place. I haven't . . ." her voice trailed off and she looked away from Jason, hoping instead to find her words among the falling raindrops. "Do you ever feel like you aren't the person you're supposed to be? That you could be a different person - and have a better life - if things had been just a little different?

I’m broken. Fucked up. I feel sick. I can’t breathe. It’s like someone’s snaked their fingers around my heart, capturing it in a crushing grip. It’s Emma. This is her doing. Well, it won’t fucking bleed for her. It won’t bleed for anyone. It’s black. I’m dead inside.

Mel rolled her eyes. "You can't live your life based on 'what-ifs,' Liv. And change is inevitable. It's the one thing you can always count on. Stop worrying about what might or not happen and follow your heart. How can you expect to ever be happy if you don't?

Yes. I rememb

I could be the ceaseless mist that fogs your colourless eyes when you're lost in your universes.

There are questions Kyungsoo doesn’t ask Jongin. He doesn’t ask Jongin if they can stay together forever, or how many tomorrows are really left, because sometimes the truth is too bright. He can only hold onto the seconds, each gesture, each contact, each syllable. Jongin comes in seconds. Everything comes in seconds.If only the seconds could last long enough.

That's not cruel. This is. You come here in the middle of the night, expecting me to be awake, and ask—no, demand—me to give you things that belong to me as much as they belong to you. Never mind what it does to me. Never mind that each time I see you, I wonder if I'll ever hold you in my arms again, or be able to touch you without you cringing away like I'm a monster. I think it's fair to ask if there's an 'us,' my dear, because I suspect you're trying to use me just now. Tell me that's not cru

Because of the green-eyed one, I see red and that makes me blue.

When you’ve tired of me,” she said softly, precisely, “Apollo will still be my brother. Will still be there for me.”“I’ll never tire of you,” he said, knowing with every thread of his soul that he spoke the absolute truth.“Then prove it.”He knew what she asked with such an open and vulnerable face. Something within him shriveled and died... he’d been on the rack too long for a penance he wasn’t sure he could ever entirely pay. “You know…” His voice was hoarse, the croaking of a dying man. He lic

I've even purposely looked for stories full of exactly this kind of angst, because I love the emotion behind it so much.

A jagged stone existed where her heart had been.

They had lied, those who had extolled the virtues of love—its pleasures, its sublimity—those who had told her that it was beautiful and worthwhile.There was nothing beautiful abo

I find some small, twisted comfort in thinking that perhaps we used each other. Him, for a glimpse into what it would be like to live a life entirely different from the one he'd been raised to desire, and me for the steady diet of angst and emotional damage that seemed to make me better, sharper, like a sword against a whetstone.I was his intellectual escape from a long parade of pretty, empty girls... and he was my drug of choice -- unhealthy, probably lethal, but ultimately so addictive it was

I see how it is,” I snapped. “You were all in favor of me breaking the tattoo and thinking on my own—but that’s only okay if it’s convenient for you, huh? Just like your ‘loving from afar’ only works if you don’t have an opportunity to get your hands all over me. And your lips. And . . . stuff.”Adrian rarely got mad, and I wouldn’t quite say he was now. But he was definitely exasperated. “Are you seriously in this much self-denial, Sydney? Like do you actually believe yourself when you say you d

Not your distress. Never that. I loved— I loved being there. Next to you. The pile of limbs that was Us. Together in the same bed. Even if it meant waking up with a few new bruises.

It’s so peaceful. I could go to sleep in here.” His eyes flickered to me once more, and for a dizzying second I wasn’t thinking about sleep or storms but about pressing my lips to his. I gave my head a slight shake and tried to slow my pulse

As soon as I decided I'd have to dig down still deeper to uncover the root of my listless withdrawal from life, I became aware of some interference from the past distracting and confusing my thoughts, causing me a sensation that was at the same time oppressive, expectant and empty. In these somewhat contradictory feelings, I came to recognize my childish sense of having run down like a clock that needed someone to wind it before it could go again; and saw that I was now no less helpless than in

Fly GenerationWe stand tall, we stand proud, we are the ‘fly’ generationWe think what we learn to think and dream with our eyes openWe keep our hearts on our sleeves for it to be brokenbut we can take it, we are the ‘fly’ generation.We question things when we need to understandIts important we know, how it works, where we standWhy all this pain and no explanation?we need answers, we are the ‘fly’ generation.We love to hate and hate to love, what have we become?Since when is that the norm? when d

Every improvement in communication makes the bore more terrible.

A year earlier my parents had moved us out of the city to a split-level on Long Island, their idea of the American dream, which meant it as now an hour-and-a-half commute via the 7:06 Hicksville to Penn Station every morning. (Dark City Lights)

Jack: "..You were the on­ly one I saw when I closed my eyes"Lexi: "Then why wasn't I enough when they were open?

I had more to say,” Sin said, still looking frustrated. “But it doesn’t come out right when I try. I always say the wrong things.”Boyd nodded but he was so caught by their proximity, by the green of Sin’s eyes, that at first he struggled with his own words.“It’s alright,” he said at last. “As long you don’t hate me, it’s enough.”“That is not enough,” Sin growled. “Not by a goddamn long shot. You just have no idea, Boyd. No fucking clue.”“About what?”“Everything. Why I acted the way I did…Why I w

The young of the town, preoccupied with their own germinating angst, which each possessed in varying degree (though few were ever fully aware of its existence), felt no particular connection to the land, its people, its structures, or its history. As such, they had no inclination to defend its invisible borders from declared enemies within or without. They desired only escape from this small village, which each viewed as an existential prison built upon the antiquated expectations of their paren

Chrystle? I'm back!" I refused to say that I was home because Cassie was my home. But I'd lost that, and her, forever, so I'd never truly be home again.

Up in the distance the whistle of the wind sang to her from the mountain. From Lucian’s mountain. It beckoned and taunted and she wanted to run towards it. To be enveloped in its coat of fleece and to hear its safe sounds.

She couldn’t get any farther away inside from her skin. She couldn’t get away.

He started to draw. He drew from memory. He had a good memory, something which, all things considered, was far from a blessing.The pencils moved quickly across the paper, scratching back and forth in deepening shades of grey. He leaned low over the paper, concentrating all his energy on his work. The candles flickered and dripped wax, having nothing better to do.Eventually he lifted his head and looked at his creation. The face of a young woman stared back at him from the paper, a slight smile p

It was February sixth: eight days until Valentine's Day. I was dateless, as usual, deep in the vice grip of unrequited love. It was bad enough not having a boyfriend for New Year's Eve. Now I had to cope with Valentine datelessness, feeling consummate social pressure from every retailer in America who stuck hearts and cupids in their windows by January second to rub it in.

I tried very hard not to ponder the horrible irony that I was too ugly to love, and too ugly not to violate.

She personified her name in everything she did. Even when we would row, her words were deftly chosen and spoken rather like an intricate dance. And I so loved to dance with her.

The moment he laid eyes on Kuga, I knew. There's a reason I'm doing this to him. I want to see it; how he's fallen in love with a guy, and how he makes him his own. And then what I've done will become a sharp knife, thrown right back at me.That's right. I just wanted to see.And the meaning behind the sharp knife flying towards me: Why not me? Why can't it be me? All this time, I would be lying if I said I've never wished for it, but by being merely an observer, I've somehow managed to distance m

What in God's name did he want me to say? That I agreed with him completely at how our kiss had been successful? That it had meant as much as a kiss I'd drop on top of a child's head before bed to him? Well I wouldn't lie for the sake of lying. I'd rather stay silent and realize that the kind, gentle, passionate person I'd fallen for didn't exist and in his place was a cold, unfeeling fool who wouldn't know romance even if it had slapped him in the face.

His dark gaze searched her face. “Aren’t you curious, inspector? A kiss—and only a kiss.”Only a kiss . . . from someone who wanted her. Longing slipped through her, tugging at hopes best kept buried. Yes, Mina wanted to know. But she couldn’t afford it.“No,” she said.He smiled. “Liar.

Her entire life, she’d been told sin was wrong, a black and white interpretation of what is evil and what is holy in the world—colored like a priest’s robe and collar—but she never believed it to be true. Sin was colorful: scarlet like rose blood, azure like skin deprived oxygen, violet as bruises, jade as rot; a colorful contradiction to the darkness and blinding light all are taught sin and holiness to be.

She very much feared that if she stayed with Maximus, this awful taint – this terribly wrong act – would, day by day, year by year, wear at her until she was no more than a ghost of her former self. She saw need when she looked into his eyes, but was there any love as well? Had she discarded Penelope’s friendship for a man who didn’t, in the end, truly care fo

Are these things really better than the things I already have? Or am I just trained to be dissatisfied with what I have now?

It's better to say goodbye, to move on, to end the lie.

Somebody's got to win this war, right?

Fuck 'em. Call it whatever you want. Maybe it's just two people clinging to each other to stay alive. Maybe sometimes that's all love gets to be. And, maybe, if they hold onto each other long enough . . . maybe something good finally happens.

Wow, Skye.” He kneels in front of me, ready to put one of his huge, strong hands on my knees. I recoil suddenly before I catch myself. Someone normal doesn’t react like that at the mere possibility of an innocent touch. “Okay, I’m going to sit on your friend’s bed.” He does just that, his eyes locked with mine. I have the sense I’m trapped and I don’t like it. I don’t want to ever feel like that again. “You should go,” I say, my voice wavering and barely above a whisper.He takes a sip of his cof

When you're young, you always feel that life hasn't yet begun—that "life" is always scheduled to begin next week, next month, next year, after the holidays—whenever. But then suddenly you're old and the scheduled life didn't arrive. You find yourself asking, 'Well then, exactly what was it I was having—that interlude—the scrambly madness—all that time I had before?

Damn it! Are you so stupid you don't know what I'm going to do to you?"Her eyes bore into his without flinching. "Are you so stupid you haven't figured out yet that it doesn't matter?

No matter where I went, where I’ve gone, what I’ve seen and what I’ve done…you have never not been wit’ me. You’ve always been my home.

My mother was gone. The whole world should be black and cold. Nothing should look beautiful.

I was free, free from all the distress and angst i felt before. Her red string of fate was tied to someone else and my thread was broken.

I should move away from his touch. But he’s a constant storm in my life, clouding my head, ensuring I make bad decisions. He doesn’t do it on purpose, he knows we’re not good for each other, but there’s something about us that makes us fight back harder, thinking we can overcome it.

Together, they at once dodged those parts of themselves and magnified them, making for enigmatic harmony and anarchy.

I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do," I breathed, trying hard to pretend I wasn't fazed by what just happened. "You weren't listening to me."He stared at me with intensity for several seconds. "That's an interesting way to get my attention.

If he would see me again, I would die happy. In the meantime, I was merely dying.

Maybe he would see me as weak and stupid. Maybe he was right.

Frankly, if her face wasn't so cute, I would most certainly have been punching it.

God's will can go fuck itself. And so can you.

When we pick up the newspaper at breakfast, we expect - we even demand - that it brings us momentous events since the night before...We expect our two-week vacations to be romantic, exotic, cheap, and effortless..We expect anything and everything. We expect the contradictory and the impossible. We expect compact cars which are spacious; luxurious cars which are economical. We expect to be rich and charitable, powerful and merciful, active and reflective, kind and competitive. We expect to be ins

Don't ask the world to stop moving because you have doubts.

If you needed revenge, you’ve got it. Every minute that I’m with you knowing that you’re not mine is like hydrochloric acid in a razor cut.

A united front announcing a split.

Tasting what could have been—what should have been—didn't make it easier.

When I penetrate into that house, if I ever do, it will be to go on turning, faster and faster, more and more convulsive, like a constipated dog, or one suffering from worms, overturning furniture, in the midst of my family all trying to embrace me at once, until by virtue of a supreme spasm I am catapulted in the opposite direction and gradually leave backwards, without having said good evening.

Breasts were one thing: they were in front, where you could have some control over them. Then there were bums, which were behind, and out of sight, and thus more lawless. Apart from loosely gathered skirts, nothing much could be done about them.

Either way, he was always staring into a bottomless pit, or into a whirlpool that forever sucked him inexorably inward to its vortex.

July 22, 2009At times I still feel lost, but I also feel the comfort of my Lord through the physical pain and the mental challenges. I know He’s there. I can feel Him in the sun beaming down on my brown skin. It feels like love and comfort. It feels like He’s holding me when I suffer and I’m not alone.

I am hell with a knife and there is nothing I can really do about it but try and keep my mouth shut and try not to let it show.

I won’t pretend that I deserve you. I am faithless. I have done unforgivable things. And I am broken.” He gestured to his face and body with trembling hands. “I know you see past these things when you look at me . . . but I hope I can be enough for you.”“What? Enough for me? Gabriel, you are everything.

You are a soldier. A fighter. And now you must fight. Not for the emperor, not for France . . . but for yourself.

I was a quiet teenager, introverted, full of angst.

I am happy with you." It was only a half-lie. In truth, being with him made me happier than anything. But it was a bittersweet happiness because from this moment on, it would be overshadowed with the wait and wonder of when and how our relationship would dissolve.

He was acting like our kiss had broken him, and his reaction was breaking me.

Back then, come July, and the blazers would again make their way out of the steel trunks and evenings would be spent looking at snow-capped mountains from our terrace and spotting the first few lights on the hills above. It was the time for radishes and mulberries in the garden and violets on the slopes. The wind carried with it the comforting fragrance of eucalyptus. It was in fact all about the fragrances, like you know, in a Sherlock Holmes story. Even if you walked with your eyes closed, you

Nobody should have to choose between a cold heart and a dead heart.

It made sense, Amanda decided. People thrived on the misfortunes of others: her mother was the perfect example of that. Can't see a car accident, she thought, for wanting to climb inside and join in.

The problem with having friends was that you might lose them. Or they might get hurt.

Frightened people live in their own special hell.

You loved me.”It wasn’t a question, but he answered it readily. “I do. More than life. My heart. I didn’t just pick a sweet turn of phrase to name you, but spoke from my soul when I named you thus. Without my heart I couldn’t live. And I couldn’t breathe without you.”“Are you a man who has more than one heart?”“Nay. Only this one. But it’s bitter and dark now from the pain I’ve brought you.

I'm trying to let him know what I'm about to do.I'm hoping he can save me, even though I realize he can't.

You shut your eyes to keep out the light because the light reminds you that you are alive

And his soul plunged downward, drowning in that deep pit: he felt that could never again escape from this smothering flood of pain and ugliness, from the eclipsing horror and pity of it all. And as he walked, he twisted his own neck about, and beat the air with his arm like a wing, as if he had received a blow in his kidneys. He felt that he might be clean and free if he could only escape into a single burning passion -- hard, and hot, and glittering -- of love, hatred, terror, or disgust. But h

Once you let in the word, once you allow it to take root, it will spread like a mold through all of your corners and dark spaces— and with it, the questions, the shivery, splintered fears, enough to keep you permanently awake.

Once upon a time, there was a naïve and innocent girl who thought she could tame the beast and live happily ever after. But the beast did not want to be tamed, for he was a beast and beasts care not for such things, and the girl died along with her dreams.From childhood's grave sprang a young woman, jaded before her years, who knew that beasts could wear the skins of men, and that evil could exist in sunlight, as well as darkness.Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

Seems," madam? Nay, it is; I know not "seems."'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage,Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, That can denote me truly: these indeed seem, For they are actions that a man might play: But I have that within which passeth show; These but the trappings and the suits of woe.

I knew this for a fact. Little by little, the ache to see him, to hear him would disappear. Little by little I’d forget how his arms felt, how his fingers felt, how his lips felt..the sound of his voice, the intensity of his gaze, all of it. Trace by trace it would slip from my mind, recede into foggy memory. The painful haze that dulled my present would melt into the past. Maybe not all the way, maybe there would be a few scars. Maybe I'd be different, but I’d be me again. Little by little.