Quotes About Restlessness

A consensus slowly gathered among us. We had given up something important, we believed: the fire, the vigor, that came with a lack of ease. We had lost some of the difficulty of our lives, and we wanted it back.

For a man burning to venture into the unknown, this spell of enforced idleness was torment.

I want to tear myself from this place, from this reality, rise up like a cloud and float away, melt into this humid summer night and dissolve somewhere far, over the hills. But I am here, my legs blocks of concrete, my lungs empty of air, my throat burning. There will be no floating away.

Madlaline's stories stirred up an old restlessness in me, an urge I'd always had to strike out headlong into the world, to be dauntless. By comparison my own life seemed crushingly ordinary. I foresaw my life unfolding as an interminable stretch of nothingness…feeling like a stand-in for myself, a proxy, as though my real self resided elsewhere, waiting to unite someday with this dimmer more hollow self.

Den lange jærnbanereise har rystet sammen alle de forskjellige dele i vore hoder, det danser mange løse ting omkring derinde, vi kjører endnu; selv har jeg desuten et lite tillæg av mathet, av ubehag, feber. Det der må nok kureres med en bitte liten dram, sier jeg. Og så ser jeg min leilighet til å hælde kognak i et ølglass.

Wild ideas popped up again in my head. What if I quietly went over and cut off the mooring ropes on one of the ships? What if I suddenly cried fire?

But for the unquiet heart and brain A use in measured language lies; The sad mechanic exercise Like dull narcotics numbing pain.

Would one not say that these lines had been written yesterday ? More than ever our age of unrest makes us the prey of impulses, and to the majority of our contemporaries, the robe, half green and half yellow (by recalling to them the worship of common sense), will become a fetish, more precious than all the amulets with which superstition loves to adorn logic, or to incorporate fantastic outline in the classic setting of beautiful jewels.

Love is an immortal wound that cannot be closed up. A person loses something, a part of her soul, when she loves someone. And she goes about looking for that lost part of her soul, for she knows that otherwise she is incomplete and cannot be at rest. It is only when she is with the person she loves that she becomes complete again in herself; but the moment he leaves, she loses that part which he has taken with him and knows no rest till she has found him once more.

When the mind experiences something distasteful it craves to be rid of the irritation. When the mind experiences something pleasant, it craves that the pleasure will remain and will intensify. Therefore, the mind is always dissatisfied and restless.

the real root of suffering is this never-ending and pointless pursuit of ephemeral feelings, which causes us to be in a constant state of tension, restlessness and dissatisfaction.

Not that anyone short of God Almighty could have gotten Marcus Senior to rest and take it easy. It was like trying to make a shark sit up and beg for treats.

It's not so hard to figure out why I'm not sleeping. What I can't figure out is why everybody else is sleeping.

1. Dukkha Life is unsatisfactory. Pleasure in the physical world is transient. Pain inevitably follows. Therefore, nothing we experience can be deeply satisfying. There is no resting place in change.

Some people, no matter what you give them, still want the moon. The bread, the salt, white meat and dark meat, still hungry. The marriage bed and the cradle, still empty arms. You give them land, their own earth under their feet, still they take to the roads. And water: dig them the deepest, still it's not deep enough to drink the moon from.

Certain kinds of knowledge rob people of their sleep.

The one thing life has taught me is that most people spend their lives bottled up inside their houses doing the things they hate.

But I was not a domesticated animals...The dirt and grit of a city, the unending wakefulness of it, the crowdedness, the constant light obscuring the stars, the omnipresent gasoline fumes, the thousand ways it presaged our destruction... none of these things appealed to me.

But I was not a domesticated animal. The dirt and grit of a city, the unending wakefulness of it, the crowdedness, the constant light obscuring the stars, the omnipresent gasoline fumes, the thousand ways it presaged our destruction... none of these things appealed to me.

Being somewhere but not completely: that was home for Danny, and it sure as hell was easier to land than a decent apartment. All he needed was a cell phone, or I-access, or both at once, or even just a plan to leave wherever he was and go someplace else really really soon. Being in one place and thinking about another place could make him feel at home.

It wasn't depression, exactly; more a weird, restless pressure that made me wander the house late at night, opening the best bottles of wine in our cellar and drinking them alone while I channel-surfed along the forgotten byways of cable TV.

There was widespread chagrin over not being able to buy Panamanian rum from the bumboats that swarmed both ends of the canal, but it soon dissolved into the monotony peculiar to long voyages. Everyone resisted this at first; they were bored, stymied, restless. But within a few days, peace overcame the ship like a sigh—the relief of knowing this was all there was, or would be, for some weeks. Men

it was a restless, desperate wish for something to change. Anything. Even if the change brought a certain danger. He'd take danger over sorrow every time.

He saw Harvey and Edgar catch each other's eye as he looked off toward the strains of Alley Cat, Jesus, hoping they'd rush it faster than the others or he'd have to get out of here. It was the only song he knew that made him want to break something.