Moping Quotes

“It's about 65 degrees, so it feels like when the air conditioner is up on high. I can bear it, so I'm going for a walk. Today. Right now. In the sunshine. Because I can.

Because I want to. Because I'm not going to just sit around and wait for stuff to happen anymore. I'm still me, and I have a life. It's a weird life, but it's still mine.

It's still mine.”
― Andrew Clements, Things Not Seen

“It's not wrong to feel sorry for yourself. Just like it's not wrong to stand in a puddle of water while the rain pours down on your head. But neither is productive, unless you enjoy feeling cold and miserable and soggy while mascara runs down your face.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, Slaying Dragons: Quotes, Poetry, & a Few Short Stories for Every Day of the Year

“He looked as if he he subsisted exclusively on carbohydrates and ill feeling.”
― John Lanchester, Capital

“I was in the mood to make out in the back row of the movie theater with someone who did not know my first name. I wanted three guys to fight for the honor of buying me a drink”
― Jodi Picoult, My Sister’s Keeper

“I’m not my best, and I had four glasses of wine. If I want to be a sad failure, I can. I got dumped by my fiancé because I’m not perfect and never will be. Love isn’t enough, and time doesn’t heal— "

Caroline explaining why she watched Under the Tuscan Sun three times today.”
― Carina Alyce, Burn Card

“I saw a pretty shop across the Sidra the other day. It sold what looked to be lots of lacy little things. Am I allowed to buy that on your credit, too, or does that come out of my personal funds?'

Those violet eyes again drifted to me. 'I'm not in the mood.'

There was no humour, no mischief. I could go warm myself by a fire inside, but...

He had stayed. And fought for me.

Week after week, he'd fought for me, even when I had no reaction, even when I had been been able to speak or bring myself to care if I lived or died or ate or starved. I couldn't leave him to his own dark thoughts, his own guilt. He'd shouldered them alone long enough.

So I held his gaze. 'I never knew Illyrians were such morose drunks.'

'I'm not drunk- I'm drinking,' he said, his teeth flashing a bit.

'Again semantics,' I leaned back in my seat, wishing I'd brought my coat. 'Maybe you should have slept with Cresseida after all- so you could both be sad and lonely together.'

'So you're entitled to have as many bad days as you want, but I can't get a few hours?'

'Oh, take however long you want to mope. I was going to invite you to come shopping with me for said lacy little unmentionables, but... sit up here forever, if you have to.'

He didn't respond.

I went on, 'Maybe I'll send a few to Tarquin- with an offer to wear them for him if he forgives us. Maybe he'll take those blood rubies right back.'

His mouth barely, barely tugged up at the corners. 'He'd see that as a taunt.'

'I gave him a few smiles and he handed over a family heirloom. I bet he'd give me the keys to his territory if I showed up wearing those undergarments.'

'Someone thinks mighty highly of herself.'

'Why shouldn't I? You seem to have difficulty not staring at me day and night.'

There it was - a kernel of truth and a question.

'Am I supposed to deny,' he drawled, but something sparked in those eyes, 'That I find you attractive?'

'You've never said it.'

'I've told you many times, and quite frequently, how attractive I find you.'

I shrugged, even as I thought of all those times- when I'd dismissed them as teasing compliments, nothing more. 'Well, maybe you should do a better job of it.'

The gleam in his eyes turned into something predatory. A thrill went through me as he braced his powerful arms on the table and purred, 'Is that a challenge, Feyre?'

I held that predator's gaze- the gaze of the most powerful male in Prythian. 'Is it?'

His pupils flared. Gone was the quiet sadness, the isolated guilt. Only that lethal force- on me. On my mouth. On the bob of my throat as I tried to keep my breathing even. He said, slow and soft, 'Why don't we go down to that store right now, Feyre, so you can try on those lacy little things- so I can help you pick which ones to send to Tarquin.'

My toes curled inside my fleece-lined slippers. Such a dangerous line we walked together.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“I saw a pretty shop across the Sidra the other day. It sold what looked to be lots of lacy little things. Am I allowed to buy that on your credit, too, or does that come out of my personal funds?'

Those violet eyes again drifted to me. 'I'm not in the mood.'

There was no humour, no mischief. I could go warm myself by a fire inside, but...

He had stayed. And fought for me.

Week after week, he'd fought for me, even when I had no reaction, even when I had barely been able to speak or bring myself to care if I lived or died or ate or starved. I couldn't leave him to his own dark thoughts, his own guilt. He'd shouldered them alone long enough.

So I held his gaze. 'I never knew Illyrians were such morose drunks.'

'I'm not drunk- I'm drinking,' he said, his teeth flashing a bit.

'Again semantics,' I leaned back in my seat, wishing I'd brought my coat. 'Maybe you should have slept with Cresseida after all- so you could both be sad and lonely together.'

'So you're entitled to have as many bad days as you want, but I can't get a few hours?'

'Oh, take however long you want to mope. I was going to invite you to come shopping with me for said lacy little unmentionables, but... sit up here forever, if you have to.'

He didn't respond.

I went on, 'Maybe I'll send a few to Tarquin- with an offer to wear them for him if he forgives us. Maybe he'll take those blood rubies right back.'

His mouth barely, barely tugged up at the corners. 'He'd see that as a taunt.'

'I gave him a few smiles and he handed over a family heirloom. I bet he'd give me the keys to his territory if I showed up wearing those undergarments.'

'Someone thinks mighty highly of herself.'

'Why shouldn't I? You seem to have difficulty not staring at me day and night.'

There it was - a kernel of truth and a question.

'Am I supposed to deny,' he drawled, but something sparked in those eyes, 'That I find you attractive?'

'You've never said it.'

'I've told you many times, and quite frequently, how attractive I find you.'

I shrugged, even as I thought of all those times- when I'd dismissed them as teasing compliments, nothing more. 'Well, maybe you should do a better job of it.'

The gleam in his eyes turned into something predatory. A thrill went through me as he braced his powerful arms on the table and purred, 'Is that a challenge, Feyre?'

I held that predator's gaze- the gaze of the most powerful male in Prythian. 'Is it?'

His pupils flared. Gone was the quiet sadness, the isolated guilt. Only that lethal force- on me. On my mouth. On the bob of my throat as I tried to keep my breathing even. He said, slow and soft, 'Why don't we go down to that store right now, Feyre, so you can try on those lacy little things- so I can help you pick which ones to send to Tarquin.'

My toes curled inside my fleece-lined slippers. Such a dangerous line we walked together.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury