Quotes About Weariness

All I'm saying is that I understand if the novelty's worn off and you want to get off the carousel ride now before it kills you.

All the world is sad and drearyEv'rywhere I roam,Oh! darkies, how my heart grows weary,Far from the old folks at home.

Eventually, it was around midnight, I was told to get ready and put the gloves on. I felt physically depleted and drained of energy, and had no get-up-and-go left in me. I wanted a bed badly, not a boxing ring.

It was 9pm, the fag end of another dismal day.

Well? If I must die, I must! The loss to the world will not be great; and I myself am already downright weary of everything. I am like a guest at a ball, who yawns but does not go home to bed, simply because his carriage has not come for him. But now the carriage is here... Good-bye!...

We've known for a long time that it was no longer possible to overturn this world, nor reshape it, nor head off its dangerous headlong rush. There's been one possible resistance: to not take it seriously. But I think our jokes have lost their power...All you get out of it is weariness and boredom.

Une joie su laquelle pèse l'obligation de remplacer d'autres joies est bien vite une joie usée

life itself is anything beyond a heartless little chimera- it is as real in its weariness and bitter heartache

Now no joy but lacks salt That is not dashed with pain And weariness and fault; I crave the stain Of tears, the aftermark Of almost too much love, The sweet of bitter bark And burning clove.

While they danced they came over them the weariness with the world, the melancholy, the pity one for the other, which is the exultation of love.

I'd had 35 professional fights and mentally I was tired of it. I'd sort ot fallen out of love with the sport.

My eyes burn with tears, and I'm so tired. So tired of holding back everything I feel and want to say. So tired of being someone I'm not and making mistakes that I didn't have any fun making.

I am beginning to feel this nocturnal existence tell on me.

I am no longer young, and my heart, through weary years of mourning over the dead, is not attuned to mirth. Moreover, the walls of my castle are broken. The shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and casements. I love the shade and the shadow, and I would be alone with my thoughts when I may

Sometimes good people grow weary of society.

I have been through hell...And I'm really tired.

No one said anything. The midday heat beat down on them, baking their bodies within the oven of clothes long since gone stiff with sweat and dirt, their minds as tired as their expectations. Hawk couldn't remember his last real bath. None of them had done more than wash off a little dirt and cool down their faces at the end of each day's trek since they had set out. Before that, things hadn't been much better. Food was growing scarce, too. Time was as thin as hope.

And so another miserable, black and weary night. And then another miserable gray and wintry morning.

Perhaps it is weariness that causes seers not to act on what they see; for whereas the wisdom of the world can be vast, it includes the many futilities. Ideas do not have legs with which to run and hands with which to craft. They are wisps of smoke floating into a universe of pain and ignorance that overwhelm the capacity of one small human body and the mind trapped inside it.

When men are tired of hearing and meditating upon the things of God, the fault lies within; in the background there is greed, and behind that sacrilege, and behind that again profanity. Let us search our hearts, and find whether the things of God have become merely a duty, a weariness, that we would relinquish if we dare, and to which we only hold for the sake of appearances.

No tiene más de cuarenta años, y las arrugas le hacen una reja de prisionero, y la prisión es verdadera y corresponde a la fatiga y al desengaño que por fin le han atrapado. Las arrugas lo trabajan de dentro afuera, al revés de los demás hombres maduros. A todos les estropea la edad y a éste el corazón, su enemigo, el clavo de adentro que no se puede despuntar.

Most of us wander in and out of one another's lives until not death, but distance does us part--time and space and the heart's weariness are the blander executioners of human connection.

Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep. Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed, and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled centuries since Paradise.

But do I look very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed, and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled centuries since Paradise.