Quotes About Restless

Dead … might not be quiet at all.

Ich bin sehr müde. Einen zusammenhängenden Schlaf habe ich seit Wochen nicht gehabt. Unglaubhaft, aber ich könnt jetzt einschlafen. Kann ja nichts mehr verschieben, auch den Schlaf nicht. Ungut, übermüdet in den Tod zu gehen.

The great majority of men are but tangled skeins, imperfect keyboards, so many specimens of restless or stagnant chaos--and what makes their situation almost hopeless is the fact that they take pleasure in it. There is no curing a sick man who believes himself in health.

Man hath still either toys or care: But hath no root, nor to one place is tied, but ever restless and irregular, about this earth doth run and ride. He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where He says it is so far, that he has quite forgot how to go there.

In the long, sleepless watches of the night.

Like all those who live in touch with nature and have known want, he was patient and could wait for hours, even days without growing restless or irritable

Pierre pushed forward as fast as he could, and the farther he left Moscow behind and the deeper he plunged into that sea of troops the more was he overcome by restless agitation and a new and joyful feeling he had not experienced before. It was a feeling akin to what he had felt at the Sloboda Palace during the Emperor's visit—a sense of the necessity of undertaking something and sacrificing something. He

As the human soul approached death, it got more and more restless and more and more energy for wandering, a preparation for all eternity where the old people believed no one would rest or sleep but would range over the earth and between the moon and stars, traveling on winds and clouds, in constant motion with ocean tides, migrations of birds and animals, pulsing within all life and all beings ever created

It's useless to play lullabies for those who cannot sleep.

Some people will totally get restless, since you can make demos pretty easy. It's not unreasonable for someone to say, "All right, can you just record this and go home and work on it?"

My friends and neighbors were always fixing their cars. Soldiers who felt restless wanted to work on something, and they understood cars. Me, I like to look at cars but I was never really a mechanic.

You know what it's like to feel anxious - it's horrible feeling anxious. It's stressful having that feeling, having butterflies in your stomach, even for a day, and you don't sleep at night.

Not the kind of wheel you fall asleep at.

Anxiety is the poison of human life; the parent of many sins and of more miseries. In a world where everything is doubtful, and where we may be disappointed, and be blessed in disappointment, why this restless stir and commotion of mind? Can it alter the cause, or unravel the mystery of human events?

Obsessive and easily bored, he was incapable of being sexually faithful to any woman. He reveled in being a wanderer, an eavesdropper, a stranger

I've always been a very restless person. I work hard, spend too much time looking after my son, I dance like a mad thing, I learned calligraphy. I go to courses on selling, I read one book after another. But that's all a way of avoiding those moments when nothing is happening, because those blank spaces give me a feeling of absolute emptiness, in which not a single crumb of love exists.

No one could work harder to be happy, Tocqueville observes of Americans, marveling at the ceaseless, restless energy they expand in search of a better life. Rushing from one thing tho the next, an American will travel hundreds of miles in a day. He will build a house in which to pass his old age and then sell it before the roof is on. He will continually change paths for fear of missing the shortest cut leading to happiness.

room. It was four a.m. and he had not yet been to sleep.

What, Lucius, ho! I cannot, by the progress of the stars, Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say! I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. When, Lucius, when? awake, I say! what, Lucius!

He was not discontented, but he was too restless, too preoccupied. Each day led so relentlessly to the next, linked by cause and effect, anticipation and result, preparation and achievement.

Amar es soñar con mares en mitad de un largo insomnio.

I'm restless and harsh and despairing. Although I do have love inside me. I just don't know how to use love. Sometimes it tears at my flesh, like barbs. If I can hold so much love within me, and nevertheless continue to be uneasy, it's because I need God to come. Come, before it's too late. I'm in danger, as is everyone who's alive.

I know that my phrases are crude, I write them with too much love, and that love makes up for their faults, but too much love is bad for the work. I'm restless and harsh and despairing. Although I do have love inside me. I just don't know how to use love. Sometimes it tears at my flesh. But when winter comes I give and give and give. The excess of me starts to hurt and when I'm excessive I have to give of myself.

The houses that trouble me most are the ones with a lamp on all night and people living inside. I don't look at those lamps and think what a waste of electricity or money they are. It's another waste I see. For every watt that shines in the darkness, I see restless sleepers drifting further and further from their souls.