Best 209 quotes in «routine quotes» category

I choose the irrational from a rational position. I’m positioning myself on Undo, undo even undoing. Un-think, because routines dull the mind, and you don’t see what’s in front of you. Familiarity breeds contempt, and also lack of in-sight and out-sight.

I'd stay home through the blizzard and get some hard sleeping done. I'd return to my old rhythm, my daily rituals. I needed the stability of my familiar routine.

If a country is not governed well, all sort of disasters will become a routine of that country!

If there’s a single idea I emphasize when people ask about writing, it’s that there’s no right way to produce a book. But I do think that whatever you do, you should do regularly, whether it’s waking up at midnight and drinking vodka or waking up at dawn and drinking tea, whether it’s sitting in a monkish study or writing on the back of a flatbed truck. The analogy I like is children’s literature: in a lot of children’s books, there’s a huge institutional structure (Hogwarts, for example) whose presiding safety allows the children’s imagination to run free. The more consistent your habits are – and this ties into having your tools nailed down – the more secure your brain will be to run free and create.

If spectacle is lacking in everyday life, it may be because we have forgotten where and how to look.

In today's globalized world nothing is sure. Routines are falling; stereotypes are breaking. Life has never been as piquant as it is now. So go out of your way; leave your cocoon. Do that crazy thing and be happy you did it.

I guess I forgot we were going out tonight." "We always go out on Fridays." "It's Thursday, Alvis." "You are so tied to routine.

I slide to my knees and say, "Please let this be over." Then, I'm not ready for it to be over.

it offends the continuum of human dignity to treat people like the appendage of highly efficient machines.

I was also sick of my neighbors, as most Parisians are. I now knew every second of the morning routine of the family upstairs. At 7:00 am alarm goes off, boom, Madame gets out of bed, puts on her deep-sea divers’ boots, and stomps across my ceiling to megaphone the kids awake. The kids drop bags of cannonballs onto the floor, then, apparently dragging several sledgehammers each, stampede into the kitchen. They grab their chunks of baguette and go and sit in front of the TV, which is always showing a cartoon about people who do nothing but scream at each other and explode. Every minute, one of the kids cartwheels (while bouncing cannonballs) back into the kitchen for seconds, then returns (bringing with it a family of excitable kangaroos) to the TV. Meanwhile the toilet is flushed, on average, fifty times per drop of urine expelled. Finally, there is a ten-minute period of intensive yelling, and at 8:15 on the dot they all howl and crash their way out of the apartment to school.” (p.137)

I learned to find equal meaning in the repeated rituals of domestic life. Setting the table. Lighting the candles. Building the fire. Cooking. All those soufflés, all that crème caramel, all those daubes and albóndigas and gumbos. Clean sheets, stacks of clean towels, hurricane lamps for storms, enough water and food to see us through whatever geological event came our way. These fragments I have shored against my ruins, were the words that came to mind then. These fragments mattered to me. I believed in them. That I could find meaning in the intensely personal nature of life as a wife and mother did not seem inconsistent with finding meaning in the vast indifference of geology and the test shots.

It has been written that so much of life is preparation, so much is routine, and so much is retrospect that the purest essence of anyone's genius contracts itself to a precious few hours.

Man was designed in a way in which he must eat in order to give him a solid reason to go to work everyday. This helps to keep him out of trouble. God is wise.

Maybe this is the way things are supposed to be but it doesn't feel right

Motivation may be what starts you off, but it's habit that keeps you going back for more.

Motivation 1.0 presumed that humans were biological creatures, struggling to obtain our basic needs for food, security and sex. Motivation 2.0 presumed that humans also responded to rewards and punishments. That worked fine for routine tasks but incompatible with how we organize what we do, how we think about what we do, and how we do what we do. We need an upgrade. Motivation 3.0, the upgrade we now need, presumes that humans also have a drive to learn, to create, and to better the world.

Neither the next day, nor the day after that, did M. Folantin's unhappiness dissipate; he simply let himself drift, incapable of resisting this crushing feeling of depression. Mechanically, under a rainy sky, he would make his way to his office; then he would leave it, eat, and go to bed at nine, only to resume the following day the exact same routine; little by little he slid into complete spiritual apathy.

Nothing will sustain you more potently than the power to recognize in you humdrum routine, the true poetry of life - the poetry of the commonplace, of the ordinary person, of the plain, toilworn, with their loves and their joys, their sorrows and griefs.

Just as spring brings life to flowers and the moon moves tides on the shores, nothing is simply chance. Everything happens for a reason. Everything is a routine.

People just don't seem to get me. Don't understand that I need my space. Always telling me what to do. They think rules and routines and clean hands and your p's and q's will make everything all right. They haven't got a clue.

Nowadays crime is routine.

On the way to Washington Square she thought to herself that some kid would probably fall off the slide and cut his lip. Later, in the park, Matt fell from the swing and cut his lip. Cassandra held a Kleenex to the cut, fought back her own tears. What's the matter with me? What more do I want? God, let me just see the good things. She forced herself to look around, out of herself, and, in fact, the cherry blossoms were in bloom.They had been coming out little by little, but it was that day they were lovely. Then, as if because she saw the trees, the fountain turned on. Look, Mama! Matt cried and began to run. All the children and their mothers ran to the sparkling fountain. The postman walked right by it as usual. He seemed not to notice that it was on, got wet by the spray. One/two. One/two.

(Página 45) "A enfermaria zumbe da maneira como ouvi uma fábrica de tecido zumbir uma vez, quando o time de futebol jogou com a escola secundária na Califórnia. Depois de uma boa temporada, s promotores da cidade estavam tão orgulhosos e exaltados que pagavam para que fôssemos de avião até a Califórnia para disputar um campeonato de escolas secundárias com o time de lá. Quando chegamos à cidade tivemos de visitar um indústria local qualquer. Nosso treinador era um daqueles dados a convencer as pessoas de que o atletismo era educativo por causa do aprendizado proporcionado pelas viagens, e em todas as viagens que fazíamos ele carregava com o time para visitar fábricas de laticínios, fazendas de plantação de beterraba e fábricas de conservas, antes do jogo . Na Califórnia foi uma fábrica de tecido. Quando entramos na fábrica, a maior parte do time deu uma olhada rápida e saiu para ir sentar-se no ônibus e jogar pôquer em cima das malas, mas eu fiquei lá dentro numa canto, fora do caminho das moças negras que corriam de um lado para o outro entre as fileiras de máquinas. A fábrica me colocou numa espécie de sonho, todos aqueles zumbidos e estalos a chocalhar de gente e de máquinas sacudindo-se em espasmos regulares. Foi por isso que eu fiquei quando todos os outros se foram, por isso e porque aquilo me lembrou de alguma forma os homens da tribo que haviam deixado a aldeia nos últimos dias para ir trabalhar na trituradora de pedras para a represa. O padrão frenético, os rostos hipnotizados pela rotina... eu queria ir com o time, mas não pude. Era de manhã, no princípio do inverno, e eu ainda usava a jaqueta que nos deram quando ganhamos o campeonato - uma jaqueta vermelha e verde com mangas de couro e um emblema com o formato de uma bola de futebol bordado nas costas, dizendo o que havíamos vencido - e ela estava fazendo com que uma porção de moças negras olhassem. Eu a tirei , mas elas continuaram olhando. Eu era muito maior naquela época. " (Página 46) "Uma das moças afastou-se de sua máquina e olhou para um lado e para o outro das passagens entre as máquinas, para ver se o capataz estava por perto, depois veio até onde eu estava. Perguntou se íamos jogar na escola secundária naquela noite e me disse que tinha um irmão que jogava como zagueiro para eles. Falamos um pouco a respeito do futebol e coisas assim, e reparei como o rosto dela parecia indistinto, como se houvesse uma névoa entre nós dois. Era a lanugem de algodão pairando no ar. Falei-lhe a respeito da lanugem. Ela revirou os olhos e cobriu a boca com a mão, para rir, quando eu lhe disse como era parecido com o olhar o seu rosto numa manhã enevoada de caça ao pato. E ela disse : " Agora me diga para que é que você quereria nesse bendito mundo estar sozinho comigo lá fora, numa tocaia de pato ?" Disse-lhe que ela poderia tomar de conta da minha arma, e as moças começaram a rir com a boca escondida atrás das mãos na fábrica inteira. Eu também ri um pouco, vendo como havia parecido inteligente. Anda estávamos conversando e rindo quando ela agarrou meus pulsos e os apertou com as mãos. Os traços do seu rosto de repente se acentuaram num foco radioso; vi que ela estava aterrorizada por alguma coisa. - Leve-me - disse ela num murmúrio - Leve-me mesmo garotão. Para fora desta fábrica aqui, para fora desta cidade, para fora desta vida. Me leva para uma tocaia de pato qualquer, num lugar qualquer . Num outro lugar qualquer. Hem garotão, hem ?

Quand tous les jours sont ainsi semblables les uns aux autres, c'est que les gens ont cessé de s'apercevoir des bonnes choses qui se présentent dans leur vie tant que le soleil traverse le ciel.

The more you get set into your own world, the smaller your world becomes.

the patriotic or religious bumper stickers always seem to be on the biggest, most disgustingly selfish vehicles driven by the ugliest, most inconsiderate and aggressive drivers, who are usually talking on cell phones as they cut people off in order to get just twenty stupid feet ahead in the traffic jam...

There is an incessant influx of novelty into the world, and yet we tolerate incredible dulness. I need only suggest what kind of sermons are still listened to in the most enlightened countries. There are such words as joy and sorrow, but they are only the burden of a psalm, sung with a nasal twang, while we believe in the ordinary and mean.

Try your hardest to combat atrophy and routine. To question The Obvious and the given is an essential element of the maxim 'de omnius dubitandum' [All is to be doubted].

Us going to have a cup of coffee. Then maybe it all won't seem so bad.

Välillä tuntuu kuin vain odottaisin. Kuljen täällä, asun täällä odottaen jotain. Mutta minulla ei ole aavistustakaan, mitä se jokin on. Erityisen selväksi tämä tulee, kun lasken päiviä seuravaan viikon alkuun kuin odottaisin sitä. En kuitenkin odota mitään erityistä. En päivää jona tapahtuisi jotain, ei muutosta näköpiirissä.

We start the day demotivated & tired due to our inability to bring joy & excitement to our working environment. Most of the days are exact reflection of previous days, & we become slaves to our routines. We do whatever is necessary, keep following the old successful formula - think for today & to justify our actions, surround ourselves with yes-men, block every new idea which challenges our intellect & avoid every action which requires a change in our routine. Soon our approach to work becomes so stationary that catching-up with growth becomes an impossible task

What a silly routine, Natalie thought, not realizing, sitting there alone on the stool in the center of the ring of girls, how she was jeopardizing her own future in college, her own future for four years and perhaps for the rest of her life; how even worse than the actual being a bad sport was the state of mind which led her into defiance of this norm, this ring of placid, masked girls, with their calm futures ahead and their regular pasts proven beyond a doubt; how one person stepping however aside from their meaningless, echoing standards, set perhaps by a violent movement before their recollection, and handed down to them by other placid creatures, might lose a seat among them by questions, by rebellion, by anything except a cheerful smile and a resolution to hurt other people.

Love has the power to create an inviting space in the lives of people. But if daily routine kills dreamy or passionate thoughts, the constraint of the room may become oppressive and the emptiness unbearable. The room loses then its original fullness and turns into a place of nothingness. ( " Another empty room" )

Rest and comfort are two different things. Rest is a planned temporary time to refresh and refocus the leader. Comfort is when you settle into unproductive routines and accept satisfactory or unsatisfactory results.

Routine preventative 5 year interval Colonoscopies should be mandatory for all very high altitude workers, regardless of their age.

Routine and predictable days are the breeding grounds for complacency.

Routine ruins the life, variety vitalise the life.

Self-care is how you take your power back.

She was too well-trained to panic.

Still, hell or no hell, it was satisfactory, it was even exciting in those early days to know that one was doing something bad and wrong. But there is in debauchery something so intrinsically dull, something so absolutely and hopelessly dismal, that it is only the rarest beings, gifted with much less than the usual amount of intelligence and much more than the usual intensity of appetite, who can go on actively enjoying a regular course of vice or continue actively to believe in its wickedness. Most habitual debauchees are debauchees not because they enjoy debauchery, but because they are uncomfortable when deprived of it. Habit converts luxurious enjoyments into dull and daily necessities. The man who has formed a habit of women or gin, of opium-smoking or flagellation, finds it as difficult to live without his vice as to live without bread and water, even though the actual practice of the vice may have become in itself as unexciting as eating a crust or drinking a glass from the kitchen tap. Habit is as fatal to a sense of wrong-doing as to active enjoyment. After a few years the converted or sceptical Jew, the Westernized Hindu, can eat their pork and beef with an equanimity which to their still-believing brothers seems brutally cynical. It is the same with the habitual debauchee. Actions which at first seemed thrilling in their intrinsic wickedness become after a certain number of repetitions morally neutral. A little disgusting, perhaps; for the practice of most vices is followed by depressing physiological reactions; but no longer wicked, because so ordinary. It is difficult for a routine to seem wicked.

Still, there is something disappearing from the world, something composed of many instances of tradition and skill, or maybe not disappearing, but translating. Maybe culture, like physical matter, doesn’t disappear, but is subject to infinite play, and th e world is a vast workshop for making and remaking everything, including people, and the engine of play is desire…

Stop walking through the motions of a conditioned routine and start consciously taking action on your visualized intent.

Terror came. I would fall into a slumber of days, and getting up would go on with the same sad dreams. I was ripe for death and along a road of perils my weakness led me to the confines of the world and of Cimmeria, home of whirlwinds and of darkness. - Delirium II - Alchemy of the Word

That is indeed the best way to dumb down the masses: make them do the same thing over and over; let them have their fireworks every Bastille Day and let them gorge themselves every New Year's Eve. When the body repeats the same action, the mind adopts it and keeps the repetition going day and night, stopping all thought processes.

The day that lay before (was) full of infinite possibilities, though in a million superficial ways it was identical to the day before.

The flowing movements and relaxing music softens the sense and release the soul. This way my students not only enjoy moving their bodies with ease, but they also have the satisfaction of knowing that they can benefit from this Art for as long as they shall live (that I presume will be much longer than the expected if they continue on their routine of practicing my "BalletTao") At my primary school, a colleague was reading a text out loud when he kicked this word: Ballet, which is pronounced with a soundless T. He hesitated and then read: Ballet accentuating the T in the end. It sounded like: Ballet-Chi. Who would guess that one day I would accept this as the correct way to use this word?" The Dao Workbook Illustrated

The Marquesa would even have been astonished to learn that her letters were very good, for such authors live always in the noble weather of their own minds and those productions which seem remarkable to us are little better than a day's routine to them.

The more I took note of how my body and brain clicked along through the day, the more I realized that I spent a considerable amount of time banging around with a brain full of chatter; a rush of things to do, bills to pay, telephone calls, text messages, e-mails, worrying about my job or my looks, my boobs or my ass; I rushed from thing to thing, multitasking, triple-timing, hoping to cover all the bases, avoiding anything that might disrupt the schedule or routine. At times, I was so caught up in the tempo and pattern, the predictable tap, tap, tap of each day, that there was no time to notice the neighbors had moved out, the wind was sneaking in from the north, the sun was shifting on its axis, and tonight the moon would look like the milky residue floating inside an enormous cereal bowl. I wondered when I had become a person who noticed so little.

Then everyone would retreat for a nap, after which we would have coffee and cake, sometimes an argument.

There is a tension between what is good for someone and what they want to do. This is because people, especially older people, like to do things as they've always done them. The problem is that when the brain develops ingrained habits, it doesn't need to think anymore. Things get done very quickly and efficiently on automatic pilot, often in a very advantageous way. This creates a tendency to stick to routines, and the only way of breaking these is to confront the brain with new information.