Quotes About Routine

Make working a HABIT,and in the streams of success there shall thou INHABIT. Chuzy 24 vs 7

I should never do anything pre-coffee. 'It was only a teeny fire,' I told my uncle over the phone.

If I didn't have a job, I might have stayed in bed until I rotted.

Always it was the same, Furlong thought; always they carried mechanically on without pause, to the next job at hand. What would life be like, he wondered, if they were given time to think and reflect over things? Might their lives be different or much the same – or would they just lose the run of themselves?

What was it all for? Furlong wondered. The work and the constant worry. Getting up in the dark and going to the yard, making the deliveries, one after another, the whole day long, then coming home in the dark and trying to wash the black off himself and sitting into a dinner at the table and falling asleep before waking in the dark to meet a version of the same thing, yet again. Might things never change or develop into something else, or new?

What was it all for? Furlong wondered. The work and the constant worry. Getting up in the dark and going to the yard, making deliveries, one after another, the whole day long, then coming home in the dark and trying to wash the black off himself and sitting into a dinner at the table and falling asleep before waking in the dark to meet a version of the same thing, yet again. Might things never change or develop into something else, or new?

in the mechanics of the ordinary, working week. Sundays could feel very threadbare, and raw. Why could he not relax and enjoy them like other men who took a pint or two after Mass before falling asleep at the fire with the newspaper, having eaten a plate of dinner?

What was it all for? Furlong wondered. The work and the constant worry. Getting up in the dark and going to the yard, making the deliveries, one after another, the whole day long, then coming home in the dark and trying to wash the black off himself and sitting into a dinner at the table and falling asleep before waking in the dark to meet a version of the same thing, yet again.

Escrevo por não ter nada a fazer no mundo: sobrei e não há lugar para mim na terra dos homens. Escrevo porque sou um desesperado e estou cansado, não suporto mais a rotina de me ser e se não fosse a sempre novidade que é escrever, eu me morreria simbolicamente todos os dias. (A hora da estrela)

I write because I have nothing better to do in this world: I am superfluous and last in the world of men. I write because I am desperate and weary. I can no longer bear the routine of my existence and, were it not for the constant novelty of writing, I should die symbolically each day.

I cannot stand repetition: routine divides me from potential novelties within my reach.

Every day it will be the same thing: at dusk I begin to feel melancholy and pensive.

She had pacified life so well, taken such care for it not to explode. She had kept it all in serene comprehension, separated each person from the rest, clothes were clearly made to be worn and you could choose the evening movie from the newspaper—everything wrought in such a way that one day followed another.

Escrevo por não ter nada a fazer no mundo: sobrei e não há lugar para mim na terra dos homens. Escrevo porque sou um desesperado e estou cansado, não suporto mais a rotina de me ser e se não fosse a sempre novidade que é escrever, eu me morreria simbolicamente todos os dias.

Escribo porque no tengo nada que hacer en el mundo: estoy de sobra y no hay lugar para mí en la tierra de los hombres. Escribo por mi desesperación y mi cansancio, ya no soporto la rutina de ser yo, y si no existiese la novedad continua que es escribir, me moriría simbólicamente todos los días.

Acordava antes de todos, pois para ir à escola teria que pegar um ônibus e um bonde, o que lhe tomaria uma hora. O que lhe daria uma hora. De devaneio agudo como um crime.

Civilizar minha vida é expulsar-me de mim. O que me mata é o cotidiano. Eu queria só exceções. Estou perdida: eu não tenho hábitos.

E eu não fora grande bastante: só os grandes amam a monotonia.

Yet in my rural town I almost never run into anyone on my nightly walks—except for one eccentric, a man everyone calls Jogger John.

What we live before the light is turned off is what prevents the light from being turned off. 'The quotidian

Treat your password like your toothbrush. Don't let anybody else use it, and get a new one every six months.

A writer is someone who writes every day and is unhappy if he doesn't.

There are at least 365 days in a year. You can do 300 days working with pay, 60 days working and praying without pay, and 5 days of rest

I still work out on a daily basis.