Quotes About Monotony

Do something too often and it stops being special." After

Baseball consists of a million threads of dullness, on a loom of ennui, woven into a tapestry of tedium.

The tedious never die; that's what makes them tedious.

Andy Warhol wrote, "Either once only, or every day. If you do something once it's exciting, and if you do it every day it's exciting. But if you do it, say, twice or just almost every day, it's not good any more.

After the pain of this disappointment her heart once more stood empty, and the succession of identical days began again.

My life which I dream will be so beautiful, so poetic, so vast, so filled with love will turn out to be like everybody else's - monotonous, sensible, stupid.

Her heart remained empty once more, and the procession of days all alike began again. So they were going to follow one another, like this, in line, always identical, innumerable, bringing nothing!

But her life was as cold as an attic facing north; and boredom, like a silent spider, was weaving its web in the shadows, in every corner of her heart.

But she—her life was cold as a garret whose dormer window looks on the north, and ennui, the silent spider, was weaving its web in the darkness in every corner of her heart.

Emma was just like any other mistress; and the charm of novelty, falling down slowly like a dress, exposed only the eternal monotony of passion, always the same forms and the same language.

Charles' conversation was as flat as a street pavement, on which everybody's ideas trudged past, in their workaday dress, provoking no emotion, no laughter, no dreams.

His eagerness had turned into a routine; he embraced her at the same time every day. It was a habit like any other, a favourite pudding after the monotony of dinner.

Are you not tired as I am of waking up every morning and seeing the sun all over again? Tired of living the same life, suffering the same sorrow? Tired of desiring, and tired of being sated? Tired of waiting, and tired of possessing?

He had heard these things said to him so often that for him there was nothing original about them. Emma was like any other of his mistresses, and the charm of novelty slipping off gradually like a peace of clothing revealed in his nakedness the eternal monotony of passion which always assumes the same form and uses the same languages. He could not perceive, this man of such broad experiences, the difference in feelings that might underlay similarities of expression.

León estaba cansado de amar sin resultados; además comenzaba a sentir esa postración que causa en una la repetición de la misma vida, cuando ningún interés la dirige y ninguna esperanza la sostiene.

And he was beginning to feel that discouragement which is engendered by a life of repetition, when no interest guides nor expectation sustains it.

Léon was het uitzichtloos verliefd zijn meer dan beu; daarbij meldde zich de neerslachtigheid die wordt veroorzaakt door de sleur van een eentonig bestaan dat geen doel of leidraad heeft, dat niet wordt gedragen door enige hoop.

Emma leek op alle andere maîtresses; en nu de bekoring van het nieuwe langzamerhand als een kledingstuk van haar afgleed, kwam de eentonigheid van de hartstocht bloot, die altijd dezelfde vorm heeft, die dezelfde taal spreekt.

Léon était las d'aimer sans résultat ; puis il commençait à sentir cet accablement que vous cause la répétition de la même vie, lorsque aucun intérêt ne la dirige et qu'aucune espérance ne la soutient.

One need not possess joys in order to taste their bitterness! Even to view them from afar off begets loathing of them. Thou must be fatigued by the monotony of the same actions, the length of the days, the hideousness of the world, the stupidity of the sun?

s'était tant de fois entendu dire ces choses, qu'elles n'avaient pour lui rien d'original. Emma ressemblait à toutes les maîtresses ; et le charme de la nouveauté, peu à peu tombant comme un vêtement, laissait voir à nu l'éternelle monotonie de la passion, qui a toujours les mêmes formes et le même langage.

But her own life was as cold as an attic with a north-facing window, and boredom, that silent spider, was spinning its web in the darkness in every corner of

Mais elle, sa vie était froide comme un grenier dont la lucarne est au nord, et l'ennui, araignée silencieuse, filait sa toile dans l'ombre à tous les coins de son cÅ"ur.

Le charme de la nouveauté, peu à peu tombant comme un vêtement, laissait voir à nu l'éternelle monotonie de la passion, qui a toujours les mêmes formes et le même langage.