Quotes About Restlessness

that anxiety has at its core disquietude caused by ambiguity and a strong inclination toward problem solving. When

Part of you is always traveling faster, always traveling ahead. Even when you are moving, it is never fast enough to satisfy that part of you.

Some cowboys got too much tumbleweed in their blood to settle down.

What is the reason that, where'er I go, A sad sensation--not exactly woe, Though still sometimes approaching wretchedness, A wish for something that I can't express, A recklessness as to my future lot, Existence wanting--wanting--don't know what, Should weigh me down? When I Bonabben question, He answers shortly that "it's indigestion.

Ennui has made more gamblers than avarice, more drunkards than thirst, and perhaps as many suicides as despair.

Nepromišljeno jurimo za novotarijama, gonjeni sve snažnijim osje?ajem nedostatnosti, nezadovoljstva i nemira. Više ne živimo od onoga što imamo, nego od obe?anja, više ne u svjetlosti današnjega dana, nego u tami budu?nosti, koja ?e, kako o?ekujemo, napokon donijeti pravi izlazak sunca.

See," Ochwiay Biano said, "how cruel the whites look. Their lips are thin, their noses sharp, their faces furrowed and distorted by folds. Their eyes have a staring expression; they are always seeking something. What are they seeking? The whites always want something; they are always uneasy and restless. We do not know what they want. We do not understand them. We think that they are mad." I

Era domingo. Se fumasse, acenderia agora um cigarro para ficar com ar de pessoa distraída. Mas assim tão sem vícios e portanto sem ter sobre o que derramar a distração que desejava, ai - assim ficava tão solta. Perdi até o sono, suspirou, como se o sono fosse a sua última reserva de segurança. E estou compreguiça de trabalhar e tenho vontade de falar uma palavrão, que merda também.

Ando meio fatigado de procuras inúteis e sedes afetivas insaciáveis.

There is always something missing that torments me.

im fucking bored

my life feels so small it itches, like a too-tight wool sweater

Restless hearts and anxious minds find peace in justification. Frenetic lives of self-justification have rest in the salvation of Jesus Christ. The incessant need to prove our own worthiness and our failure to ever do so are nailed to the cross, buried in the tomb, and put to death forever.

Dr. Seuss books, Oh, the Places You'll Go. The book describes the dreaded Waiting Place, where people wait for the fish to bite, wind to fly a kite, for Uncle Jake, for pots to boil, or a better break …

I am always on the edge of what I am doing. I do everything badly, sloppily, to get it over with so that I can get on to the next thing that I will do badly and sloppily so that I can then do nothing - which I do anxiously, distractedly, wondering all the time if there isn't something else I should be getting on with.

Men loven of propre kynde newefangelnesse.

the Ennui predator.

Simply to acquiesce in skepticism can never suffice to overcome the restlessness of reason.

I just can't live an ordinary life, I can't pass the time . I can't organise myself, I don't have ordinary motives any more. I can't even manage my body, when I go to bed I don't know where to put my arms.

I had better spend the day quietly, sleep in the afternoon perhaps, and then start again hunting for Hugo. I would have much preferred to look for Anna. But I had no idea now where to start looking. Also I wanted to lay quickly to rest the terrible suspicion that where I found Hugo now I would also find Anna. This idea didn't bear thinking about and so I didn't think about it.

like a bairn trying tae stay up as late as possible.

Weeks passed, Vincent did nothing - just ate, slept or sat staring at one point. [...] He wandered around the neighborhood in order to stretch his legs or just for pleasure. He walked because he was annoyed to lie, to sit or to stand. When he got tired of walking, he was sitting, lying or standing.

Oh, hell! I can't sleep!" "Neither can I! But I might as well try—as a matter of principle."   Twelve hours later, sleep was still just that—a matter of principle, unattainable in practice.

A restlessness peculiar to people who turn the night into day hung in the air.