Quotes About Weary

Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light" (Matthew 11:28-30).

Antigonus, having taken one of his soldiers into a great degree of favor and esteem for his valor, gave his physicians strict charge to cure him of a long and inward disease under which he had a great while languished, and observing that, after his cure, he went much more coldly to work than before, he asked him what had so altered and cowed him: "Yourself, sir," replied the other, "by having eased me of the pains that made me weary of my life.

The weary man knows it. And without regret he leaves the mists of the earth, its swamps and rivers, with a light heart he gives himself into the hands of death, knowing that she alone can bring him peace.

Gods, gods! How sad the evening earth! How mysterious the mists over the bogs! Whoever has wandered in these mists, whoever suffered deeply before death, whoever flew over this earth burdened beyond human strength knows it. The weary one knows it. And he leaves without regret the mists of the earth, its swamps and rivers, and yields himself with an easy heart to the hands of death, knowing that it alone can bring surcease.

I am not sleepy myself, though I am weary… weary to death.

I cannot afford to lose blood just at present. I have lost too much of late for my physical good, and then the prolonged strain of Lucy's illness and its horrible phases is telling on me. I am over excited and weary, and I need rest, rest, rest. Happily Van Helsing has not summoned me, so I need not forego my sleep. Tonight I could not well do without it. TELEGRAM

I am no longer young. And my heart, through weary years of mourning over the dead, is not attuned to mirth. Moreover, the walls of my castle are broken; the shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and casements.

He talks pretty big for a gutter wizard, he muttered. You don't understand at all, said the wizard wearily. I'm so scared of you my spine has turned to jelly, it's just that I'm suffering from an overdose of terror right now. I mean, when I've got over that then I'll have time to be decently frightened of you.

I came for midnight Mass, didn't I? He gave a weary laugh, Everyone shows up at Christmas. Even the ones who don't believe.

And so another miserable, black and weary night. And then another miserable gray and wintry morning.

And so you have the astounding and bitter spectacle, gentlemen, of a supposedly innocent and highly misunderstood young man dragging this weary and heart-sick girl from place to place, in order to find a lake deserted enough in which to drown her. And with her but four months from motherhood!

They hold a secret smile and a certain amused resignation. As if he has watched humanity's idiocies play out in front of him so many times that they have begun to Ã¢â'¬Â¦ not pain but perhaps perturb him. As if he wearies of watching the rats in the maze run into the same walls over and over.

Whatever terrific events may inform our lives, it always comes to that in the end; we just want to lie down.

Such people, one soldier acidly observed, certainly "would like" to see the Confederacy triumph "and no doubt weary heaven with their prayers for peace and independence." But they prayed at least as fervently "to get through with whole skins and full purses.

It is a weary lament to lay most acts of violence and aggression, from the strictly local to the truly global, squarely at the feet of men. Yet the association is strong and undeniable

Is he not sacred, even to the gods, the wandering man who comes in weariness?

There was an awful suspicion in my mind that I'd finally gone over the hump, and the worst thing about it was that I didn't feel tragic at all, but only weary, and sort of comfortably detached.

I have crushed the cup of youth like a rose between my fingers but its nectar never warmed my weary heart.

The night draws to an end, the dream dims in the pale silver of awakening. Kruppe ceases, weary beyond reason. Sweat drips down the length of his ratty beard, his latest affectation. A bard sits, head bowed, and in a short time he will say thank you. But for now he must remain silent, and as for the other things he would say, they are between him and Kruppe and none other. Fisher sits, head bowed. While an Elder God weeps. The tale is spun. Spun out. Dance by limb, dance by word. Witness!

A bone-deep weariness gripped the assassin

A soul made weary longed for sordid ends. But a soul at its end longed for all that was past, and so remained trapped in a present filled with regrets.

Youth was headlong, even when it felt static, stagnant and stifling. It liked its emotions extreme, doused in fiery spices, enough to burn the throat and set flame to the heart. The future was not consciously rushed into – it was just the place you suddenly ended up in, battered and weary and wondering how in Hood's name you got there.

Is 'tired old cliché' one?

I thought my seach was over. I'm tired of travelling, of looking for invisible things.