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Where does discontent start? You are warm enough, but you shiver. You are fed, yet hunger gnaws you. You have been loved, but your yearning wanders in new fields. And to prod all these there’s time, the Bastard Time.

The essence of man is, discontent, divine discontent; a sort of love without a beloved, the ache we feel in a member we no longer have.

Unlimited economic growth has the marvelous quality of stilling discontent while maintaining privilege, a fact that has not gone unnoticed among liberal economists.

Healthy discontent is the prelude to progress.

What a miserable thing life is: you’re living in clover, only the clover isn’t good enough.

It was a weak spot in any nation to have a large body of disaffected people within its confusion.

The man who is dissatisfied with himself, what can he do?

Now is the winter of our discontent.

The sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality.