Best 632 quotes in «jealousy quotes» category

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    Did you get rid of that sweater like I asked?" "Yes, Mother," Josey said. "I wasn't trying to be mean the other day. It just doesn't look good on you." "Yes, Mother," Josey said. The truth was, that sweater, that color, looked good on her daughter. And every time she wore it, it hinted at something that scared Margaret. Josey was growing into her beauty. Margaret watched Josey leave. She used to be a beautiful woman, the most beautiful woman around. She brought out the photo again. But that was forever ago.

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    Did you talk to him about it?" "Oh, sure. Nothing happened, yadda yadda. The usual. But my maydar went off like crazy." "Maydar?" "As in, he may be thinking about super hot sex with her. Like radar, only not as sure.

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    Don’t answer the door without a shirt! Now, go get dressed before you catch a cold,” I scolded. “Why? He was kinda cute. Do you think he would’ve went for it if I said I didn’t have any money?” Wesley asked. “You’re mine and I wouldn’t let you prostitute yourself for pizza. Now go put on a shirt,” I said, pulling two slices onto a plate.

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    Did I mention really, really jealous.

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    Do not share your thoughts with people who think that what you are thinking is not worth thinking.

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    Don't be mad at me for my success. Be mad at yourself for not doing what it takes to get what I have. Then do something amazing with that emotion.

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    Don't envy what people have, emulate what they did to have it.

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    Don't ever feel sad about who you are. Don't wish to be a daughter or son to a wealthy home, just because you think you're poor. Look! Everybody's poor, i discovered it when i realized that its not everything that President Barrack Obama has.

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    Don’t hold back because you’re afraid of hurting someone else. If your best friend wants to be a cheerleader and you make the team but she doesn’t, don’t feel guilty. If you end up earning more than your sister, it’s not a betrayal. Your success might be an inspiration for someone else, while limiting yourself to avoid upsetting the balance doesn’t help anyone. Equally, rather than being paralysed by jealousy when someone else is coming out on top, use it to spur you on to greater things. Some of our best achievements will be triggered by envy at seeing someone else fulfilling our secret ambitions.

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    Don't try to impress a loser because If one is not happy about the things happening in their life, one cannot be happy about the things happening in someone else's life.

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    Don't waste your time being envious of what you don't have or who you want to be. Instead, focus on what you do have and who you can become.

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    Each person you admire is simply a reminder of your own latent excellence, your own unacknowledged beauty.

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    Eifersucht war - das hatte Tsukuru durch diesen Traum begriffen - das trostloseste Gefängnis, das es auf der Welt gab. Denn es war ein Gefängnis, in das der Gefangene sich gewissermaßen selbst einsperrte. Niemand zwang ihn dazu. Er ging aus freien Stücken hinein, schloss von innen ab und warf den Schlüssel durch das Gitter nach außen. Und niemand auf der ganzen Welt wusste, dass er dort eingekerkert war. Nur wenn er sich selbst dazu entschloss, konnte er es verlassen. Denn das Gefängnis befand sich in seinem Inneren. Doch er war außerstande, diesen Entschluss zu fassen. Sein Herz war von einer unüberwindlichen Mauer umgeben. Das war die wahre Natur der Eifersucht.

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    Eleven years she had lived in the dark house and its gloomy garden. He was jealous of the very light and air getting to her, and they kept her close. He stopped the wide chimneys, shaded the little windows, left the strong-stemmed ivy to wander where it would over the house-front, the moss to accumulate on the untrimmed fruit trees in the red-walled garden, the weeds to over-run its green and yellow walks. He surrounded her with images of sorrow and desolation. He caused her to be filled with fears of the place and of the stories that were told of it, and then on pretext of correcting them, to be left in it in solitude, or made to shrink about it in the dark. When her mind was most depressed and fullest of terrors, then, he would come out of one of the hiding-places from which he overlooked her, and present himself as her sole resource.

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    Elle était morte avec cette joie tragique des cœurs jaloux qui entraînent l'être aimé dans leur mort, et qui disent : personne ne l'aura !

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    Don't mock someone's business just because yours have higher profits. The battle is against poverty not against each other

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    Envy is for people who don’t have the self-esteem to be jealous.

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    Do you love her?” “Fuck no. What the hell would make you ask that?” “Do you want to take her home tonight instead of me?” “No.” “Then I don’t care.” Jake backed me into the bar, his arms at my sides holding onto the ledge. “I love you.

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    Envy expresses itself through condemnation. The louder the condemnation the greater the envy.

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    Even as we recognize our resentment, bitterness, or jealousy, we can also honor our own wish to be happy, to feel free.

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    Even jealousy is based on fantasies: a fantasy that someone else has what belongs to you.

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    Envy: Instead of focusing on your own goals, your goal becomes throwing off the rails other people’s goals and at the end of the day you gain nothing but a mischievous satisfaction that you have destroyed someone’s dream

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    Envy is a less severe form of anger.

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    Envy is an indispensable member of our society and somewhat a loyal friend of our society; its fruits can be sweeter or bitter; it pushes people to take different steps with different motive and understanding. Envy can be good, however, if there is one fearful enemy in our society we must arrest with all our true strength, wisdom and might, it must be envy!

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    Every day, streets papered with more and more for . Reward, reward, reward. Reward for information. If you see something, say something. A paper town, a paper world: paper rustling in the airm whispering to me, hissing out a message of posion and jealousy. If you know something, do something. I'm sorry, Lena.

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    Everyone has limitations. Know that when you always say “I wish I am like someone else”, you are attempting to take alongside someone’s limitation you may not be able to manage.

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    Envy is the desire to have what someone else has. Jealousy is the fear of losing what you have. The more insecure you are about yourself or your relationship, the more jealous you are, because you are afraid to lose your significant other to someone else.

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    Extreme emotions could be lethal. If I can't have you nobody will, and so forth. Death could set in.

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    Envy yearns to find flaws.

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    Every user needs a loser, every winner is an intrusion.

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    Fear no more," said Clarissa. Fear no more the heat o' the sun; for the shock of Lady Bruton asking Richard to lunch without her made the moment in which she had stood shiver, as a plant on the river-bed feels the shock of a passing oar and shivers: so she rocked: so she shivered. Millicent Bruton, whose lunch parties were said to be extraordinarily amusing, had not asked her. No vulgar jealousy could separate her from Richard. But she feared time itself, and read on Lady Bruton's face, as if it had been a dial cut in impassive stone, the dwindling of life; how year by year her share was sliced; how little the margin that remained was capable any longer of stretching, of absorbing, as in the youthful years, the colours, salts, tones of existence, so that she filled the room she entered, and felt often as she stood hesitating one moment on the threshold of her drawing-room, an exquisite suspense, such as might stay a diver before plunging while the sea darkens and brightens beneath him, and the waves which threaten to break, but only gently split their surface, roll and conceal and encrust as they just turn over the weeds with pearl.

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    Finally, Dageus finished, and she heard Gwen and Chloe say simultaneously, breathlessly, "Oh, my God." Gabby opened her eyes. Drustan had risen to his feet and was scowling, an expression mirrored by his twin. Both were glaring at Adam--whom they obviously could now see. Then at their wives, then back at Adam.

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    For despite his confidence, and his apparent maturity, I suspected that there was in him a deep and childish need to elevate, and idealize, the love object. This is not uncommon in artists. The very nature of their work, the long periods of isolation followed by public self-display, and the associated risk of rejection all conspire to create unnaturally intense relationships with their sexual partners. Then, when disillusion occurs, as of course it must, the sense of betrayal is profound...

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    Gossip is the sound of jealously.

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    Great work doesn’t make me jealous; it makes me want to work.

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    Guilty?” George’s face betrayed his surprise. “Whatever for?” “That neither of your brothers ever offered for me.” Another thing she probably should not have said. But as it happened, Billie did think that Lady Manston felt this way. And when George’s expression slid from curiosity to something that might have been jealousy… well, Billie could not help but feel a little pleased. “So I think she’s trying to make it up to me,” she said gamely. “It’s not as if I was waiting for one of them to ask me, but I think she thinks I was, so now she wants to introduce me —” “Enough,” George practically barked. “I beg your pardon?” He cleared his throat. “Enough,” he said in a much more evenly tempered voice. “It’s ridiculous.” “That your mother feels this way?” “That she thinks introducing you to a pack of useless fops is a sensible idea.” Billie took a moment to enjoy this statement.

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    Haters never seem to realize that jealousy is an infinite torture to which you condemn yourself.

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    He asked you not to like me, So why did you, Neera? Even now, I perform breaststrokes in caterpillar-stuffed north eastern clouds He didn’t ask me for any poems for 50 years, So why are you asking now, Neera? Even now, standing in 10-foot-deep water, I wield icy rods He wrote an editorial on my sub-judice case, Turning an editor, why are you asking for my writing, Neera? Even now, I love flatbreads stuffed with smoked penguin fat He did not confess to being my anthology’s publisher Why did you confess, Neera? Even now, I have family-pack yawns in the face of families, He didn’t like pronouncing my name So why are you telling it to youths, Neera? Even now, in bloody waters, I join the Bollywood chorus of tiger sharks He had said I have nothing of a true writer So why do you think I do, Neera? At Imlitala, I knew rat roasts don’t taste too good without charcoal smoke He said I have nothing creative in me So why do you think I do, Neera? Having burnt bank notes worth Rs 5,000 crore, I smelt death He said I’ll never write poetry So why do you think I have, Neera? On the banks of Amsterdam’s canals I have heard doddering old men sing limericks He transcended from sorrow to anger and anger to hate Why are you so generous Neera? Please don’t tell my grandmother.

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    He had found that jealousy – or perhaps the fear of betrayal – was no respecter of age. Indeed, if anything, he thought getting older simply made it worse; he felt more vulnerable now.

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    He recognised that all the period of Odette's life which had elapsed before she first met him, a period of which he had never sought to form any picture in his mind, was not the featureless abstraction which he could vaguely see, but had consisted of so many definite, dated years, each crowded with concrete incidents. But were he to learn more of them, he feared lest her past, now colourless, fluid and supportable, might assume a tangible, an obscene form, with individual and diabolical features. And he continued to refrain from seeking a conception of it, not any longer now from laziness of mind, but from fear of suffering.

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    Her lips are a pomegranate painted vacation spot. And her eyebrows -- dark, frustrated, and jealous -- for they never get the attention of her glittering pupils after yet being so near them.

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    Everybody, he mused had everything worked out. Except me

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    Fear, anger, jealousy, hatred of self and others are the outcomes of the lack of connectivity with your inner self. Connecting with your inner self and awakening your inner sensuality is not a luxury anymore, but it has become the necessity.

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    Fear, jealousy and anger are manifestations of a lack of being in love. Being in love is possible only when you are in love with yourslef first. Self-love is an inborn quality that has been corroded because of social conditioning. As a result, we forget that love is within is, or rather, we are the source of love.

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    Female competition is when you are with a guy you like and you look around, see a girl who is prettier than you standing nearby, and think to yourself: "I wish she wasn't here." -This is what happens when you attach your identity and sense of worth to the amount of male attention you receive.

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    Female competition is when you are with a guy you like and you look around, see that you're the prettiest girl in the vicinity and feel a huge sense of relief that there's no one to take the attention away from you. (Female competition is a result of women feeling like their greatest sense of self worth , identity and influence comes from their sexual appeal to men. Many women don't even realise they are feeling this way and it's a subconscious thing, but they notice themselves getting jealous when they see other women who they think men would find sexually appealing.)

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    For a sane person to sincerely be happy that someone has succeeded, they have to either be profiting or likely to profit from that person’s success, or be that person.

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    For in this way Swann was kept in the state of painful agitation which had once before been effective in making his interest blossom into love, on the night when he had failed to find Odette at the Verdurins' and had haunted for her all evening. And he did not have (as I had, afterward, at Combray in my childhood) happy days in which to forget the sufferings that would return with the night. For his days, Swann must pass them without Odette; and as he told himself, now and then, to allow so pretty a woman to go out by herself in Paris was just as rash as to leave a case filled with jewels in the middle of the street. In this mood he would scowl furiously at the passers-by, as though they were so many pick-pockets. But their faces - a collective and formless mass - escaped the grasp of his imagination, and so failed to feed the flame of his jealousy.

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    For if there was one human condition that Madame Mallory understood, it was jealousy, the intense pain of realising there are those in the world who simply are greater than we are, surpassing us, in some profound way, in all our accomplishments.

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    FORKED BRANCHES We grew up on the same street, You and me. We went to the same schools, Rode the same bus, Had the same friends, And even shared spaghetti With each other's families. And though our roots belong to The same tree, Our branches have grown In different directions. Our tree, Now resembles a thousand Other trees In a sea of a trillion Other trees With parallel destinies And similar dreams. You cannot envy the branch That grows bigger From the same seed, And you cannot Blame it on the sun's direction. But you still compare us, As if we're still those two Kids at the park Slurping down slushies and Eating ice cream. Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun (2010)