Quotes About Weariness

All seemed weary of life even before entering upon it.

He waited for some moments, listening, before he too took up the air with them. He was listening with pain of spirit to the overtone of weariness behind their frail fresh innocent voices. Even before they set out on life's journey they seemed weary already of the way.

He was listening with pain of spirit to the overtone of weariness behind their frail fresh innocent voices. Even before they set out on life's journey they seemed weary already.

Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless…?

I have a deep, deep wound of doubt in my soul... And now I am tired for a while, Berta. My wound tires me.

I have a deep, deep wound of doubt in my soul... And now I am tired for a while, Bertha. My wound tires me.

I had grown weary of federal agents and wiseguys, narcs and stings and brain-fried lowlifes, and all the seriousness and pretense we invest in the province of moral invalids.

I'm tired of sackcloth and

the sadness, the suspicion, the weariness, the knowledge that came from living a special misery in a world of misery.

He had gotten a new set of clothes someplace, but they were only worse new versions of the same thing he wore before: black trousers, black vest, frock coat, stiff collar, withered, crumpled, and chewed at the edges. His boots was worse than ever, crumpled like pieces of text paper, curled at the toes. In other words, he looked normal, like his clothes was dying of thirst, and he himself was about to keel over out of plain ugliness.

I'm the unknown everyone's already sick of.

Miracle woman ... Your mouth is wine, and all your tender flesh An easeful meadow for my weariness.

There are few good women who do not tire of their role.

O God, You Who are the truth, make me one with You in love everlasting. I am often wearied by the many things I hear and read, but in You is all that I long for. Let the learned be still, let all creatures be silent before You; You alone speak to me.

On his last legs.

She is tired of it all—tired of this endless cycle of death and birth, tired of investing any hope in the next generation, tired and frightened of finding more human beings to love, knowing full well that every person she loves will someday wound her, hurt her, break her heart with their deceit, their treachery, their fallibility, their sheer humanity

why am I so alone, so hard, so cold? I am so weary of myself! It is eating my soul to its core,--self, self, self! I cannot bear this life! I cannot breathe, I cannot live! Will nothing free me from myself?' She pressed her cheek agains the wooden post. 'I want to love! I want something great and pure to lift me to itself! Dear old man, I cannot bear it any more! I am so cold, so hard, so hard; will no one help me!

But it was not the boyish grin she had known when he bounded along the low-gravity inner corridors of Battle School. This smile had weariness in it, and old fears long mastered but still present. It was the smile of wisdom.

Home was merely a dull ache in the back of his memory. A tiredness in his eyes.

Why do you say that I am alone? My body is with me wherever I am, telling me endless stories of hunger and satisfaction, weariness and sleep, eating and drinking and breathing and life. With such company who could ever be alone?

I am tired of myself tonight. I should like to be somebody else.

You'd be a woreout sumbuck. I'll tell you that. Think how good you'd sleep.

She looked at him, and oh, the weariness to her, of the effort to understand another language, the weariness of hearing him, attending to him, making out who he was, as he stood there fair-bearded and alien, looking at her. She knew something of him, of his eyes. But she could not grasp him. She closed her eyes.

She was old; millions of years old, she felt. And at last, she could bear the burden of herself no more.