Quotes About Weariness

How does it feel? The rope dug into my wrist . Numbed my ankles. Familiar , I had wanted to answer. Being a prisoner feels familiar. It was all I had ever been. My past held on to me me as strongly as it had when I was a child, my choices still limited, my steps still shackled. My life had been patched together with lies from the day I was born. How does it feel? Old. I was tired of lies.

George fell back immediately. He took no more interest in any lady's picture than in all the other wearinesses of this troublesome world. He fell back, and leaning his forehead against the window-panes, looked out at the night.

We are weary of ourselves, and have dreamed a king. If now the gods have sent us one, let us not ask him to be more than mortal.

Exhaustion is a thin blanket tattered with bullet holes.

I see his eyes where petals part tired, remote, another coast.

He could see now that she looked tired; the delicate tissue under her eyes bruised violet with fatigue. He fought an almost irresistible desire to trace the half-circles with his finger.

I'm dying of boredom. Or maybe just dying.

But I want to give in to it sometimes, only because I'm tired and the feeling that I've had for a while-that something is haunting me down-becomes all consuming and I'm frightened that one morning there will be not enough to keep me going.

I'll never be lonely Even if I am alone For I've a precious Savior Who'll come to take me home. But while I'm here His servant I will be With one foot on earth And one in eternity. And I'll gather His crops To populate His land And if I feel weary I'll cling tighter to his hand.

Não viver é o que mais cansa.

Et voilà comment une civilisation meurt… une civilisation meurt juste par lassitude, par dégoût d'elle-même…

Je suis bien dégoûté de ma vie, bien las de moi, mais de là à mener une autre existence il y a loin !

Syksy on tullut, lehdet ovat lakastuneet, sinut ja minut luotiin elämään ajan syksyä. Kaikki ajatukset on ajateltu loppuun, mitään uutta ei enää voi tapahtua, sydämet ovat väsyneet maailmaan.

What of it? If I die, I die. It will be no great loss to the world, and I am thoroughly bored with life. I am like a man yawning at a ball; the only reason he does not go home to bed is that his carriage has not arrived yet.

Immortality no longer interests the weary old man at all.

Weariness! Weariness! This was life—my life—my career, my brilliant career! I was fifteen—fifteen! A few fleeting hours and I would be as old as those around me.

Lieutenant Commander David Tarantino, MD, hurt, sore, pungent as an ashcan, limped several blocks to a Metro rail station. He paid the fare and boarded a train toward home. As he reflected on all that he'd seen and done, Dave noticed a woman staring at him from a few seats away. She studied his scrapes and bruises, the burns on his hands. Her gaze worked its way down his torn, stained uniform to his ruined shoes.

You that in far-off countries of the sky can dwell secure, look back upon me here; for I am weary of this frail world's decay.

We move on like stone statues. I feel like my legs are made of wooden branches and my heart is a hard rock inside. For days I do not even tie up my hair and it flows around me like an Indian's. I can't find my bonnet and my traveling clothes are ragged and so is my soul.

My friend, if you are weak—worn out from work, worn down by criticism, weary of constant demands or disappointments—if you have come to the end of yourself, if you've been emptied of your delusions of strength, you're just at the right place to be filled with the goodness of God. You're finally fillable. You're fully dependent.

I've been in pain for a long time, honey. I'm just tired now. You fight and fight and fight and then… Oh my. There are days I just want to stop.

La novela que yo escribí es una novela sin puntos ni comas. No tenía ganas de ponérselas. Y explico por qué. Las comas son como los pasos. Los pasos producen cansancio y yo no tenía ganas de cansarme, me sentía sin fuerzas y no quería caminar, sino sentarme y recostarme.

I'm human like everybody else. It's just that I'm so tired, so worn out, I can't feel anymore.

the kind of life-fatigue she occasionally glimpses in the eyes of the very, very old.