Sherrilyn Kenyon Quotes

If you're writing about angry people, you use the language of anger. If you're writing about desperate people, you use the language of desperation.

I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.

I've given up trying to reason with people who despise me.

Sometimes I have wished my insults were slaps or lashes; I've wanted to hit people in the face and make them see, if only for a day, what I see each day I help people.

So much for playing nice.Tired, I let my eyes shut while they argued, hoping I didn’t die in the interim and make the problem moot. I wasn’t ever going to get my water. Ever.

Sometimes it’s all you can do,” he murmured. “Fight back; run wild, until you get it all out.” “Sometimes there is nothing to fight and nowhere to run.

I know I'm tired of thinking about what I should have done yesterday. I know I'm just tired. If I knew what to do with my life, how to fix it up, I would have done it a long time ago. You can't dig that? You think I want to live like I'm somebody's throwaway?

I'm not choosing, but I'm running out of fight.

I am so tired of rearranging my life around what the stupidest people might do.

I’d like to go out in the front yard and shout something. “None of this is worth it!” That’s what I’d like people to hear.

I'm getting really tired of bleeding. Someone stop the world, I want to get off.

I'm tired of being second.... I'm done with it.

Don't ask me how I am! I understand nothing more!

He hated all this, and somehow he couldn't get away.

I'm pretty drunk and bored with yelling at the stone walls that are your minds.

Do I look like I have anything ?" I asked him, in a reasonable voice. He looked as unnerved as the nurse had. He said, "Sorry," and backed away. I took a step after him. I screamed, "I HAVE NOTHING!" And then I said, in a perfectly calm voice, "See, I never had anything to start with.

Give parents the tiniest of confidences and they'll use them as crowbars to jimmy you open and rearrange your life with no perspective. Sometimes I'd just like to mace them. I want to tell them that I envy their upbringings that were so clean, so free of futurelessness. And I want to throttle them for blindly handing over the world to us like so much skid-marked underwear.

That is the fear: I have lost something important, and I cannot find it, and I need it. It is fear like if someone lost his glasses and went to the glasses store and they told him that the world had run out of glasses and he would just have to do without.

I am tired of trying to hold things together that cannot be held. Trying to control what cannot be controlled. I am tired of denying myself what I want for fear of breaking things I cannot fix. They will break no matter what we do.

I thank you for nothing, because I understand nothing.

I wish you would thrash him. He deserves it." She looked back at him. "I will one day, sir. I'm getting tired of falling down.

I'm tired of being a nice guy, I've been poor all my life, but don't know quite why.

I felt the kind of desperation, I think, that cancels the possibility of empathy...that makes you unkind.