Quotes About Mundane

The question is banal but one of the real troubles with living is that living is so banal.

Conform and be dull.

Turing exclaiming once, "No, I'm not interested in developing a powerful brain. All I'm after is just a mundane brain, something like the president of the American Telephone & Telegraph Company.

Spiritual practices performed in the middle of our mundane days bring us into the presence of an astonishing God.

Divinity exists in everyday life.

My boring, mundane, diligent kind of golf works sometimes. Actually, it works all the time. And sometimes, on the greatest stages, it really does flourish.

I see something that seems like standard fare, that I can imagine any number of actors playing, and I'm generally not interested.

Because it's in and about New York City, I knew 'Ex Machina' was going to have to continually mix the mundane and the fantastic.

I have a fascination with the nasty things people do to each other and the way relationships go wrong, and how there can be this very dark underbelly to seemingly normal, mundane domestic life. They're the stories in the newspapers I always find interesting. That's not a very nice thing to admit to, is it?

Have you ever noticed that the less interesting something is, the longer people want to talk about it?

Jackie and Phil are the most boring people in the southeast of England, possibly because they've been married too long, and therefore have nothing to talk about, apart from how long they've been married. In the end, I am reduced to asking them, in a joking sort of way, for the secret of their success; I was only saving time, because I think they would have told me anyway.

There is nothing special in the world. nothing magic. just physics.

There's nothing special in the world. Nothing magic. Just physics.

You do the job you're trained to do. Pull a lever. Push a button. You don't understand any of it, and then you just die.

Then all you can do is get lost in the tiny de­tails of ev­ery day do­ing the same tasks over and over.

With all the lit­tle facts we learned, we nev­er had the time to think. None of us ev­er con­sid­ered what life would be like clean­ing up af­ter a stranger ev­ery day. Wash­ing dish­es all day. Feed­ing a stranger's chil­dren. Mow­ing a lawn. All day. Paint­ing hous­es. Year af­ter year.

The dreaming world, they'd think we were crazy. Those people still in bed, they'd be asleep another hour, then washing their faces, under their arms, and between their legs, before going to the same work they did every day. Living that same life, every day.

I am profoundly vanilla.

The things I will invent will be, I suspect, mundane by comparison with the truth. And as I said, it's my intention that you should not know the difference. I plan to interweave the elements of my story so cunningly that you'll cease to even care whether an event happened out there in the same world where you walk, or in here, in the head of a crippled man who will never again move from his stepmother's house.

It had been a humdrum couple of days, reaffirming his belief in reincarnation: everything was so boring that this could not be the first time he'd experienced it.

He was a mediocre man. He had led a mediocre life exceptional only in the magnitude of its unexceptionality. Now the world was mediocre, rendering him perfect.

He hovered on unexceptionality.

Prompted by the sky, which seemed to make it all a little futile—what they said, what they did—she said something perfectly commonplace again.

a man who has decided upon self-destruction is far removed from mundane affairs, and to sit down and write his will would be, at that moment, an act just as absurd as winding up one's watch, since together with the man, the whole world is destroyed; the last letter is instantly reduced to dust and, with it, all the postmen; and like smoke, vanishes the estate bequeathed to a nonexistent progeny.