Veronica Roth Quotes

Women get exhausted and beat down, and you just want to cry.

I feel helpless, hopeless, too low to call out, too weak to think. Impotent tears dribble down.

The truth is that I feel totally helpless, or totally inconsolable, to be more honest. I’m not trying to hide it, but it’s something you’re not to worry about.

I cry sometimes. I get very upset.

Suddenly I've had enough of all this. I've had enough of being made to feel insecure and paranoid and wondering what's going on

I really did not feel okay about any of this, and there was really nothing I could do about any of it.

You know, sometimes I feel well and vital in the world, and sometimes I just feel so distressed I want to pull my hair out by the roots.

I don't think I can do this anymore.

Sad Patience, too near neighbour to despair.

If I cry, it's because I'm very angry and I can't do anything about it because I've run into a dead end. That's when the tears would come down.

I'm beyond the point of thinking I'm powerful enough to solve my own problems.

Sadness, irritability, fatigue, and distractedness are among the most common side effects of grief while parenting.

Sometimes I just want to sit in my boxer shorts and cry. That's what being a human is.

Rightly tired of the pain İ hear and feel, boss... where we's comin from or goin to or why... If İ could end it, İ would. But İ can't.

At this, Constance sat down on a rock and covered her face. She seemed smaller than ever now - so small the harbor breeze might catch her up like a scrap of paper and carry her away, carry her into nowhere.

I've written this to keep from crying. But I am crying, only the tears won't come.

You know, if my life was a horse, I’d shoot it. (Susan)

All that was left for me was a terrible kind of paralysis, this waiting game, this heartbreak game.

I feel like dying when I'm helpless

I just looked at her, feeling utterly empty. I didn't know what I was supposed to say to her. My life is in that bed. Please let me stay.

My heart is heavy, she thought. It’s not just a saying. It is what is—heavy, a great stone lodged in my breast, pressing down my whole being. How can I even stand straight and look out upon the world? I am doubled over into myself and, for all the weight, find only emptiness.

Evie wanted to cry. From fear. From exhaustion, yes. But mostly from the cruel uselessness, the damned stupid arbitrariness of it all.

Anyway, it's gone. And there's nothing left in my pocket to charm you. So from now on it's going to have to be tears or nothing I'm afraid. That's all I've got left to tell you see: tears, tears, tears.

But day after day of depression, the kind that doesn’t seem to merit carting me off to a hospital but allows me to sit here on this stoop in summer camp as if I were normal, day after day wearing down everybody who gets near me. My behavior seems, somehow, not acute enough for them to know what to do with me, though I’m just enough of a mess to be driving everyone around me crazy.

i laced my shoes with sorrow and walked a weary road dead end streets don't come undone with double knots wing tipped shoes that walk on air through vacant lots