Quotes About Weariness

I hate the world. Everything comes into it so clean and goes out so dirty. (from COVER CHARGE - currently not listed)

Do you ever get the feeling that the world is tired, Walter?' I stood there, not quite sure of what to say next. He looked embarrassed. 'I'm sorry. I sometimes forget myself and wax philosophic in the afternoons.' I walked over to the door and pushed it open, pausing to lean against the frame. 'I don't know about the world, but I sure as hell get that way.' He smiled, I smiled, and I left.

The goal of every culture is to decay through over-civilization; the factors of decadence, -- LUXURY, scepticism, weariness and superstition, -- are constant. The civilization of one epoch becomes the manure of the next.

I said so little. Days were short. Short days. Short nights. Short years. I said so little. I couldn't keep up. My heart grew weary From joy, Despair, Ardor, Hope. The jaws of Leviathan Were closing upon me. Naked, I lay on the shores Of desert islands. The white whale of the world Hauled me down to its pit. And now I don't know What in all that was real.

This is what Helen has learned: it is possible to be so tired you cannot reach for the sky, you cannot breathe. You can't even talk. You can't pick up the phone. You can't do a dish or dance or cook or do up your own zipper.

Things could be worse is wearing thin. I'm exhausted. I'm confused. I am effectively talking to the air.

just a stub. Her eyes are weary and

We'll Go No More A-roving So, we'll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart still be as loving, And the moon still be as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest. Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon.

But dammit, she was tired. Tired of doing what was expected, tired of feeling like she was missing something.

Sullen monosyllabism, a sure sign of sleep deprivation.

I'll never wake up in a good mood again. I'm tired of these stinky boots

There was too much of a sameness about the evening's delights. He had been the same route too many times. He'd been there before, so double-damned often, and however you traveled—backward, forward, or walking on your hands—you always got to the same place. You got nowhere, in other words, and each trip took a little more out of you.

I've been immersed in it too long. My spirit is wobbly and my mind is confused. The hurt has become too great.

I'm done talking, done trying, done giving hope, done hoping, and most importantly, done getting hurt and being disappointed.

At some point you give up because you are tired of being disappointed.

I don't put my faith or trust in anyone no more. After awhile you get tired of being disappointed constantly.

I'm tired of always being let down. Such a disappointment...

So fed up with life! I'm tired of hurting, tired of being let down. My heart can only break so many times before it.

So tired of being pissed off all the time.

the sodden, sweaty weariness of his own body, the whisky misery of it.

And yet I go on; if we are tired isn't it then because we have already walked a long way, and if it is true that man has his battle to fight on earth, is not then the feeling of weariness and the burning of the head a sign that we have been struggling? When we are working at a difficult task and strive after a good thing we fight a righteous battle, the direct reward of which is that we are kept from much evil.

She was tired of the flaming thoughts of discontent that kept her awake at night.

Sometimes my feet are tired and my hands are quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart.

We sat grown quiet at the name of love; We saw the last embers of daylight die, And in the trembling blue-green of the sky A moon, worn as if it had been a shell Washed by time's waters as they rose and fell About the stars and broke in days and years. I had a thought for no one's but your ears: That you were beautiful, and that I strove To love you in the old high way of love; That it had all seemed happy, and yet we'd grown As weary-hearted as that hollow moon