Quotes About Routine

I'm pretty superstitious, I want to do everything right, get my routine right, and I wait for waves. I kinda try to sense the ocean coming together for me.

The novelty we want is always close to the familiar.

In the morning I get out of bed, I brush my teeth, I wash my face, I get dressed in the clothes I like best. I want to be good to myself.

Coffee and cigarettes are much better if you want an instant breakfast.

Boredom slays more of existence than war.

At home, I set the table and make my bed," said Krista. "I like the chores I do here much better--like baking and taking food out to the pigs." Amanda helped get dinner ready. "I miss a normal carrot peeler," she said as she scraped vegetables with a knife. Then she started to shuck corn. "Now that I think about it," she added, "I wish someone in the future would invent a corn peeler.

Nothing here but kitchen things.

What most people would consider a mundane job—same streets, same view, same stops and starts—I enlivened by getting to know my regulars. In fact, I did more than get to know them, more than transport them from A to B. I helped them. I changed lives. They

I had discovered early at Ellis that a hospital nurse performs the same tasks day after day after day, and that an odd solace can be found in the monotony of those duties. Were it not for the steady thrum of the routine, the spectacle of unending human suffering would be a hospital nurse's undoing.

When darkness falls completely and Martin is still not home, I light the stove and place pork cutlets that I rubbed with butter and dried sage into a roasting pan alongside potatoes and carrots so that supper will be ready when he finally returns.

Besides, I think the real reason is that life has no meaning. I mean, no obvious meaning. You wake up, you go to work, you do stuff. I think everybody's always looking for something a little unusual that can preoccupy them and help pass the time.

Or the octogenarian twins—Creason and his colleagues referred to them as Heckle and Jeckle—who came to the library daily, spending their time reading Herodotus and Thucydides and telling Creason the very same joke every day for seven years.

I think the real reason is that life has no meaning. I mean, no obvious meaning. You wake up, you go to work, you do stuff. I think everybody's always looking for something a little unusual that can preoccupy them and help pass the time.

I liked to read about five books at a time and leave them open to my place.

Everybody works . . . . That's what life is. Work and a little play and a lot of prayer.

Writing isn't magic, it's work; earning a living as a writer means showing up at the typewriter every day, whether you feel like it or not.

She smiled at him, the way she always did, even when he woke up at oh-what-the-fuck-hundred.

You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea and you always double knot your shoelaces.' I fight back. Then I dive back into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.

You know what I miss? More than anything? Coffee. -- Plutarch Heavensbee

You can't miss your schedule. Every morning, you're supposed to stick your right arm in this contraption in the wall. It tattoos the smooth inside of your forearm with your schedule for the day in a sickly purple ink. 7:00—Breakfast. 7:30—Kitchen Duties. 8:30—Education Center, Room 17. And so on. The ink is indelible until 22:00—Bathing

Hearts been jumping just like a rabbit. Blood keeps pumping but that's just habit.

Slowly, I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. I arbitrarily punch buttons on the control board and end up hopping from foot to foot as alternating jets of icy cold and steaming hot water assault me. Then I'm deluged in lemony foam that I have to scrape off with a heavy bristled brush. Oh, well. At least my blood is flowing.

As far as I can tell, they never get up before noon unless there's some sort of national emergency, like my leg hair.

nothing is more dangerous than discontinued labor; it is a habit lost. A habit easy to abandon, difficult to resume.