Quotes About Monotony

Another day, another dolor.

The days hardened like loaves: he ate them without appetite.

The distinct feature of everything extant is its monotony.

Today like yesterday Tomorrow like today; The drip, drip, drip, Of monotony Is wearing my life away; Today like yesterday, Tomorrow like today.

There is nothing more gray, stultifying, or dreary than life lived inside the confines of a theory.

God made white people boring, then yawned and they all turned to stone.

They play like file clerks file.

A rut is a grave with the ends knocked out.

I am bored in France, especially as everyone resembles Voltaire.

Not that, this." She took her hands off the wheel and stretched out her arms, the car inching closer to oncoming traffic. "This town, these people, the same old shit every week. I'm done with it. All of it.

There is nothing as boring as the truth.

There is nothing more boring than the truth.

Boring damned people. All over the earth. Propagating more boring damned people. What a horror show. The earth swarmed with them.

And I am bored to death with it. Bored to death with this place, bored to death with my life, bored to death with myself.

Anything to vary this detestable monotony.

Most people are in a factory from nine till five. Their job may be to turn out 263 little circles. At the end of the week they're three short and somebody has a go at them. On Saturday afternoons they deserve something to go and shout about.

Realism; fatalism; phlegm. To live in the Fens is to receive strong doses of reality. The great flat monotony of reality; the wide empty space of reality. Melancholia and self-murder are not unknown in the Fens. Heavy drinking, madness and sudden acts of violence are not uncommon. How do you surmount reality, children? How do you acquire, in a flat country, the tonic of elevated feelings?

The prevailing note in the Amazon is one of monotony," thought Kenneth Grubb, "the same green lines the river-bank, the same gloom fills the forest. . . . Each successive bend in the river is rounded in expectancy, only to reveal another identical stretch ahead.

Repetition only extinguishes pleasure.

He had, in fact, already begun to sink into that creeping dry rot of pedagogy which is the worst and ultimate pitfall of the profession; giving the same lessons year after year had formed a groove into which the other affairs of his life adjusted themselves with insidious ease. He worked well; he was conscientious; he was a fixture that gave service, satisfaction, confidence, everything except inspiration.

Was this normalcy-predictable patterns, the certainty of doing the same thing everyday? Because if so, normalcy was about to make me freak out and start screaming.

Bullies are bullies, and they're always uninteresting.

Every day starts, my eyes open and I reload the program of misery. I open my eyes, remember who I am, what I'm like, and I just go, 'Ugh'.

Every milestone in the history of the company, even when forecast with heaps of hoopla, was ultimately played out according to some secret timeline of geologic tedium, so that it was drained of all interest and drama well before it took place and afterward went all but unnoticed.