Quotes About Routine

Habit is a cable; we weave a thread of it each day, and at last we cannot break it.

Too much consistency is as bad for the mind as for the body.

Old habits are strong and jealous.

It is by sitting down to write every morning that he becomes a writer. Those who do not do this remain amateurs.

There is no influence like the influence of habit.

Spending a few moments right when you wake up to inspire and motivate yourself can make all the difference in the rest of your day.

As I watched the sun began its daily routine, casting golden hue and illuminating cities, I wondered, "what an exemplary way to start my daily routine?

Habits are good if you have the habit of the best.

Habits are familiar and comfortable, putting our reactions on autopilot and often leading us, instead, to great discomfort.

Habit and routine have an unbelievable power to waste and destroy.

Nothing will sustain you more potently than the power to recognize in your humdrum routine, as perhaps it may be thought, the true poetry of life.

The man with the best job in the country is the Vice President. All he has to do is get up every morning and say, 'How's the President'

Lin Yutang also believed that reading is an art. One chapter of the Importance of Living is devoted to "the Art of Reading." Lin writes that, "the man who has not the habit of reading is imprisoned in his immediate world, in respect to time and space. His life falls into a set routine; he is limited to contact and conversation with a few friends and acquaintances, and he sees only what happens in his immediate neighborhood.

They say familiarity breeds contempt. This may or may not be true, but it is clear that familiarity breeds comfort: do something scary often enough, and it not only ceases to be scary, it becomes automatic.

He was holding a tray. On the tray were two glasses of milky Indian chai. 'Chota hazari, sahib,' said Ladoo. Bed tea. 'What a nice gesture,' I said returning to Olivia. 'Mrs Puri has sent us up some tea.' 'I wish she had sent it up two hours later,' said Olivia from beneath her sheets.

People are born and married, and live and die, in the midst of an uproar so frantic that you would think they would go mad of it.

One of the saddest things is that the only thing that a man can do for eight hours a day, day after day, is work. You can't eat eight hours a day nor drink for eight hours a day nor make love for eight hours --all you can do for eight hours is work. Which is the reason why man makes himself and everybody else so miserable and unhappy.

Men of routine or men who can do what they are told are not hard to find; but men who can think and plan and tell the routine men what to do are very rare. They are paid in proportion to the supply and demand of them.

Prayer must be the key of the morning and lock of the night.

One day might be different from another, but there ain't much difference when they're put together.

One day might be different from another, but there ain't much difference when they're put together. September 14, 1911: Writer and teacher William Armstrong wrote celebrated children's books including the Newbery Medal-winning Sounder, about an African American sharecropper family with a loud and loyal hound, inspired by Odysseus' dog Argus. Armstrong was born in Virginia 102 years ago today.

Loneliness is the diary keeper's lover. It is not narcissism that takes them to their desk every day. And who "keeps" whom, after all? The diary is demanding; it imposes its routine; it must be chored the way one must milk a cow; and it alters your attitude toward life, which is lived, finally, only in order that it may makes it way to the private page. [From "Fifty Literary Pillars", p.35]

The mind of man is like a clock that is always running down, and requires to be constantly wound up.

He nodded, sagely, at the lot of us, and yawned; then glanced at the clock. "Out you go!" he said, in friendly fashion, using the recognised formula. "I want a sleep." We rose, shook him by the hand, and went out presently into the night and the quiet of the Embankment; and so to our homes.