Quotes About Weariness

In our rhythm of earthly life we tire of light. We are glad when the day ends, when the play ends; and ecstasy is too much pain.

If there's one thing I really distinguish in myself, it's my unlimited ability for getting tired of everything.

One was tired of everything, it seemed. One launched into enthusiasms only to collapse gracefully, and pick oneself up amid sympathetic laughter.

it wore him down, knowing how small he was... how insignificant he was to the things in the shadows... it wore him down until there was so little left in him... that he almost forgot who he really was.

What is this I hear of sorrow and weariness, Anger, discontent and drooping hopes? Degenerate sons and daughters, Life is too strong for you— It takes life to love Life.

Searching my heart for its true sorrow, This is the thing I find to be: That I am weary of words and people, Sick of the city, wanting the sea

So is no warmth for me at any fire To-day, when the world's fire has burned so low; I kneel, spending my breath in vain desire, At that cold hearth which one time roared so strong, And straighten back in weariness, and long To gather up my little gods and go.

God is a sound people make when they're too tired to think anymore.

Of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh.Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man.For God shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil.

wearing a look not of disappointment but tired amusement.

Sentimentality is a form of fatigue.

I don't know. I know nothing. I am very tired.

Weariness of Men My grandmother said when she was young The grass was so wild and high You couldn't see a man on horseback. In the fields she made out Three barns, Dark and blown down from the weather Like her husbands. She remembers them in the dark, Cursing the beasts, And how they would leave the bed In the morning, The dead grass of their eyes Stacked against her.

to be sure, all that pointless standing about and waiting day after day always starting all over again without any prospect of change, will wear a man down and make him doubtful, and ultimately incapable of anything but that despairing standing about.

Only sometimes in the evening, when they come home late from a party, it looks worn to them in the mirror... almost not wearable any more.

he surrendered to a pleasant feeling of weariness

His thoughts too were weary, and he felt a little sad to be so very old; it meant he had not much time left and would have to content himself with what he knew already.

It is growing cold. Winter is putting footsteps in the meadow. What whiteness boasts that sun that comes into this wood! One would say milk-colored maidens are dancing on the petals of orchids. How coldly burns our sun! One would say its rays of light are shards of snow, one imagines the sun lives upon a snow crested peak on this day. One would say she is a woman who wears a gown of winter frost that blinds the eyes. Helplessness has weakened me. Wandering has wearied my legs.

As Mises wrote in 1919, "one can say without exaggeration that inflation is an indispensable means of militarism. Without it, the repercussions of war on welfare become obvious much more quickly and penetratingly; war weariness would set in much earlier.

Effortless. Easy. The lack of trying is what makes them lovely. We all try too hard. Striving wears down our edges, dulls the best of us.

Wat het leven in feite zo dodelijk vermoeiend maakt is misschien wel de geweldige inspanning die we op moeten brengen om twintig, veertig jaar en nog wel langer redelijk te blijven, om niet gewoon volkomen jezelf te zijn, dat wil zeggen abject, wreed en absurd.

dezam?girea, precum toate modele, început? în straturile de vîrf ale societ??ii, a coborît la cele de mai jos, care o È™i uzeaz? complet, È™i c? ast?zi cei care, mai mult decât oricine, se plictisesc la o adic?, se str?duiesc s? ascund? aceast? nefericire a lor, ca pe un viciu."

In the world of the dreamer there was solitude: all the exaltations and joys came in the moment of preparation for living. They took place in solitude. But with action came anxiety, and the sense of insuperable effort made to match the dream, and with it came weariness, discouragement, and the flight into solitude again. And then in solitude, in the opium den of remembrance, the possibility of pleasure again.

Big dreams, are so damn tiring.