Self-pity is our worst enemy and if we yield to it, we can never do anything wise in this world.
The problem with pity parties is very few people come, and those who do don't bring presents.
Life is too short for long pity parties. Get busy living, or get busy dying.
It's time to blow out the candles on the pity party cake.
Sweat has the power to end a pity party in such a way that even the hostess is happy.
Am I lonely? Yes. Am I upset? Yes. Am I confused? Yes. Do I have my days when I've thrown a little pity party for myself? Absolutely. But I'm also doing really well. I'd be a robot if I said I didn't feel moments of anger, of hurt, of embarrassment... [but] You joke and say, 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger'.
Do I have my days when I've thrown a little pity party for myself? Absolutely.
In the inner city, there's a mentality that the government owes you something. My breakthrough came when I stopped feeling sorry for myself and took responsibility for every part of my life. No more pity parties. I've gotta love me more than anybody else loves me.
I love pity parties. I wish I'd brought hats.
I used to have a real problem with self-pity. Every time the devil would throw a pity party, I would attend.
Time to stop crying, time to get her act together and do something. Time to move beyond the pity party.
Get busy living, or get busy dying.
This isn’t happening to you, princess,” Sabine snapped before I could do more than shake my head. “This is happening to us. While you spent the past few months prancing around in ignorant bliss, we were all being possessed, or kidnapped, or stalked by this hellion. So dry your tears and take off the tiara, because this is a call to arms, not a pity party. You’re not going to find any sympathy here.
Self-pity is the bestiality of emotions: it absolutely disgusts people. When you're feeling pity for yourself, and somebody says to you 'You think maybe it's time for the pity party to be over? You should stop feeling sorry for yourself and try to think positive,' it makes you wish you could saw their head off.
Amy bit her lip. "I was so scared, Dan. I couldn't think. She shook her head. "I feel so ashamed of myself. If it wasn't for you, we would have been toast." "Whoa," Dan said. "If you're throwing a pity party for yourself, don't invite me." He poked her. "You were the one who got Jonah to find us. Awesome lung power. I thought you only used that volume to get me out of the bathroom.
Oh, so that's why you're up here. For a pity party." "This isn't a joke. I'm serious." I could tell Lissa was getting angry. It was trumping her earlier distress. He shrugged and leaned casually against the sloping wall. "So am I. I love pity parties. I wish I'd brought the hats. What do you want to mope about first? How it's going to take you a whole day to be popular and loved again? How you'll have to wait a couple weeks before Hollister can ship out some new clothes? If you spring for rush shipping, it might not be so long.
Literary fiction and poetry are real marginalized right now. There's a fallacy that some of my friends sometimes fall into, the ol' "The audience is stupid. The audience only wants to go this deep. Poor us, we're marginalized because of TV, the great hypnotic blah, blah." You can sit around and have these pity parties for yourself. Of course this is bullshit. If an art form is marginalized it's because it's not speaking to people. One possible reason is that the people it's speaking to have become too stupid to appreciate it. That seems a little easy to me.
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