Best 1295 quotes in «tired quotes» category

It’s a battle, really, between me and the pine needles, to see which one of us moves first. But I’m too tired to lose.

I was a flower that bloomed and sparked way too fast. He took me in ’cause I was pretty in all kinds of colors but way too soon I stood on his table sad and dried up. I forgot to nourish myself and the sun never shone from my sky.

I was dog-ear tired…

I was now, all the time, unutterably tired as if simply keeping alive was a terrible effort.

Love should not cause suffocation and death if it is truly love. Don't bundle someone into an uncomfortable cage just because you want to ensure their safety in your life. The bird knows where it belongs, and will never fly to a wrong nest.

It takes so much energy to keep things at bay.

…–now, be happy. But I’m not. I feel nothing. When I ‘m honest with myself, I know that the only emotion I’ve felt in years is being tired. Not physically tired. Just tired. It’s as if…as if there were nobody there to feel any more. But that’s not all. There’s something much worse. It’s doing something horrible to me. I’m beginning to hate people…

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Made you the subject of my dreams, I was always the first to hear your screams. Haven't you had enough of all these schemes? Re-run all the scenes...Haven't you noticed we're being a bit too extreme? I know not everything is as it seems, but aren't you tired of floating downstream?

One foot in front of the other was all she could manage.

Rekindle the glowing spirit for success in your heart. Refresh your mind with possibility thoughts and never give way for your passion to drink from the cup of tiredness. Be renewed in your thoughts every single day.

Once lively peonies now wind-weary, and ragged at the edges, hang their heavy crowns; rain on their backs, one final act, before detaching from the stem and falling down.

Seeking rest is like seeking the gift rather than the Giver; you can't receive the gift without first finding the Giver.

She lay there thinking, on the rich, wet graveyard grass, before the tomb of some random parishioner—Beloved Son, Husband, Father—and what she thought was this: she’d been right about almost everything. She’d gotten nearly full marks. A minus again. Blew only one question. Here’s the one thing I got wrong, she thought. I thought that they could never wear me down.

She’s a-going," he says. "Her mind is set on it." It’s a hard life on women, for a fact. Some women. I mind my mammy lived to be seventy or more. Worked every day, rain or shine; never a sick day since her last chap was born until one day she kind of looked around her and then she went and taken that lace-trimmed night-gown she had had forty-five years and never wore out of the chest and put it on and laid down on the bed and pulled the covers up and shut her eyes. "You all will have to look out for pa the best you can," she said. "I’m tired.

She was always tired, these days. She put on one of those smiles that wasn’t really a smile at all, and they went on.

…she was so exhausted and tired, so overwhelmed, that she needed a Red Bull, to calm down and fall asleep.

Slowly, even though I thought it would never happen, New York lost its charm for me. I remember arriving in the city for the first time, passing with my parents through the First World's Club bouncers at Immigration, getting into a massive cab that didn't have a moment to waste, and falling in love as soon as we shot onto the bridge and I saw Manhattan rise up through the looks of parental terror reflected in the window. I lost my virginity in New York, twice (the second one wanted to believe he was the first so badly). I had my mind blown open by the combination of a liberal arts education and a drug-popping international crowd. I became tough. I had fun. I learned so much. But now New York was starting to feel empty, a great party that had gone on too long and was showing no sign of ending soon. I had a headache, and I was tired. I'd danced enough. I wanted a quiet conversation with someone who knew what load-shedding was.

My shadow is tired walking with me; but I have yet to be bored walking with myself, all by myself...

Sometimes solitude is a real heaven for the tired minds and a marvellous sanctuary for the wounded souls!

Somewhere along the way I got tired Tired of them Tired of me And tired of everything I have to carry on my shoulders. Maybe it’s all I need right now A place where I know no one And no one knows my name Somewhere so far away from Their old faces, All of their empty souls And dusty places ; Where I can reinvent myself all over again They I’ve always wanted and loved to be ..

So tired you want to quit, then you get more tired, and forget to quit.

Steffi wasn't tired anymore. In fact, she felt invigorated. She was going to make it. She needed more of those kisses.

Sometimes, I think, that in the mornings when you first wake up, every thing that happened in the previous day rushes through our mind so fast, we, A: Don't realize it. B: Become more tired, die a little inside, and become groggy. Since everyday, we die a little inside we age closer and closer to death. We constantly grow older, and we're constantly dying. Therefore, don't wake me up early, or I'll take it that you wanted to kill me.

Sometimes, I feel able to write lines about my life and about how I do feel everyday in such a huge book, but sometimes I either prefer to write one word that describe it or just to say nothing at all.

The earth grieves, and I grieve, and I am weary of the fight

That day, getting through my world was like trying to swim in a pool of warm mayonnaise while carrying two bowling balls.

Take a shower. Wash away every trace of yesterday. Of smells. Of weary skin. Get dressed. Make coffee, windows open, the sun shining through. Hold the cup with two hands and notice that you feel the feeling of warmth. 
 You still feel warmth.
Now sit down and get to work. Keep your mind sharp, head on, eyes on the page and if small thoughts of worries fight their ways into your consciousness: threw them off like fires in the night and keep your eyes on the track. Nothing but the task in front of you.  Get off your chair in the middle of the day. Put on your shoes and take a long walk on open streets around people. Notice how they’re all walking, in a hurry, or slowly. Smiling, laughing, or eyes straight forward, hurried to get to wherever they’re going. And notice how you’re just one of them. Not more, not less. Find comfort in the way you’re just one in the crowd. Your worries: no more, no less. Go back home. Take the long way just to not pass the liquor store. Don’t buy the cigarettes. Go straight home. Take off your shoes. Wash your hands. Your face. Notice the silence. Notice your heart. It’s still beating. Still fighting. Now get back to work.
Work with your mind sharp and eyes focused and if any thoughts of worries or hate or sadness creep their ways around, shake them off like a runner in the night for you own your mind, and you need to tame it. Focus. Keep it sharp on track, nothing but the task in front of you. Work until your eyes are tired and head is heavy, and keep working even after that. Then take a shower, wash off the day. Drink a glass of water. Make the room dark. Lie down and close your eyes.
Notice the silence. Notice your heart. Still beating. Still fighting. You made it, after all. You made it, another day. And you can make it one more. 
You’re doing just fine.
You’re doing fine. I’m doing just fine.

The car was on the FDR drive now and, turning her head, she glanced out at the bleak brown buildings of the projects that stretched for blocks along the drive. Something inside her sank at the sight of all that sameness, and she suddenly felt defeated. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. In the past year, she'd started experiencing these moments of desperate emptiness, as if nothing really mattered, nothing was ever going to change, there was nothing new; and she could see her life stretching before her--one endless long day after the next, in which every day was essentially the same. Meanwhile, time was marching on, and all that was happening to her was that she was getting older and smaller, and one day she would be no bigger than a dot, and then she would simply disappear. Poof! Like a small leaf burned up under a magnifying glass in the sun. These feelings were shocking to her, because she'd never experienced world-weariness before. She'd never had time. All her life, she'd been striving and striving to become this thing that was herself--the entity that was Nico O'Neilly. And then, one morning, time had caught up with her and she had woken up and realized that she was there. She had arrived at her destination, and she had everything she'd worked so hard for: a stunning career, a loving (well, sort of) husband, whom she respected, and a beautiful eleven-year-old daughter whom she adored. She should have been thrilled. But instead, she felt tired. Like all those things belonged to someone else.

The TSA liked having fresh agents on the job. Fresh agents with a clear mind and steady hand. Time travel wasn’t for the faint of heart. The pay was good though, but as Scrooby had decided long ago, that even if he didn’t get paid for it, the thrill alone was payment enough. Then again, the TSA realized they couldn’t afford to have disgruntled employees with too much time on their hands and the power of the gods at their fingertips, so the pay was very, very good. Debriefing was routine. And how he hated routine! His supervisor was a senior agent called Guy Krummeck, a rather drab character who liked his shiny silver suits almost as much as he liked to go over every little detail at least three times. Minimum. This time everything went right, so it went quick. Twenty minutes later, tired, he clocked out and went home to his small apartment. Tomorrow, after all, was another day again.

Then old Pete was on his feet. “I’m tired!” was what he shouted, a strong, angry copper tone to his voice that no one had ever heard before. Everyone hushed. They were somehow ashamed. It was as if he had suddenly said something that was real and true and important and it had put all their childish hollering to shame.

They'd heard it all, but hadn't they earned their freedom? The days of running through forests and living under floorboards. Wasn't that the price they had paid?

The feel of her own pillow, and of her own blankets reassured her. Both were familiar. And being tired was familiar too, it was a solid bodily ache, like the tiredness after too much jumping or cricket.

The thought of going to sleep forever was delicious. I was so very tired.

They got under each of my shoulders and pulled me up, Padma walking in front of me and holding her arms out for good measure. I walked on my own, but I knew that if they hadn’t been there, I might have fallen more than once. Side by side, we marched into the Ocean, all of us crying for help. What? I felt the swirling waves of Her worry as we floated just beneath the surface. Something’s wrong with Kahlen, Miaka said. In the water, they could let me go, and I floated there, the Ocean holding me like a child. I’m so tired. Look at her skin, Elizabeth said. She’s so pale. And she keeps sleeping. Like she needs it. She has a fever, too, Miaka added. I was acutely aware that my temperature was off; I could feel the water around me warming from my touch....She fretted. This has never happened before. I don’t know what to do. Maybe if she stays in You for a while, it would help, Elizabeth suggested. What, Miaka? the Ocean asked suddenly. Nothing. But she did look like she was hiding something. What were you thinking? Nothing, Miaka insisted. Flipping through ideas, it’s all nothing. I think Elizabeth is onto something. She swam up to me. We’ll come and check on you every hour until you feel like coming back to bed. I didn’t want to say how much it bothered me that she said “back to bed” instead of “back to the house.” It was like she knew I wasn’t going to be standing again. Okay. They fled, off to make arrangements for their broken sister. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening. How long have you been feeling like this? She sounded uneasy, as if She suspected something She didn’t want to say. I squinted, trying to remember. It’s been coming on so slowly, it’s hard to say. She snuggled me into Herself. Just rest. I’m here. And I was so tired, I did exactly that. It was so unreal, how loved I felt. Right there, balanced with Her rigidity, Her absolute need to maintain order, I heard Her thinking of what She might sacrifice so long as She could keep me. It was such an encompassing feeling, and that alone was enough to make me sleep.

Tired is a feeling. Lazy is a behavior. Don't confuse the two.

Tired,” said Jason. “S-L-E-E-P-Y. Tired.

Tired are my feet, that felt today the pavement; Tired are my ears, that heard of tragic things- Tired are my eyes, that saw so much enslavement; Only my voice is not too tired. It sings.

What's the trick? I wish I knew I'm so done with thinking through all the things I could've been And I know you want me, too All it takes is that one look at you and I run right back to you You cross that line and it's time to say F you

To be in a long-term state of limbo, not knowing the outcome or length of time waiting, is utterly, shatteringly exhausting.

We all grow tired eventually; it happens to everyone. Even the sun, at the close of the year, is no longer a morning person.

We dig holes for ourselves, of comfortable living, and it’s hard to see just how deep down you are until you suddenly want to take a look at the world up there, some fresh air and realise you can’t get up. You’re too far down.

To live the extraordinary ecstasy of a good rest, all you have to do is to get very tired!

Unwin was tired, too. He had worn himself down—to nothing, nearly—with his cuts and corrections, his erasures and emendations. He was awake now, but was there still time for him? His mind had wearied of its appointed rounds, of the stream of typescript and transcript, and now he wondered what might have been different, what might still be different, if only the day would hold and not abandon him to sleep.

When the brain becomes too tired, the mind stops decrypting the perceptions in our mental world and surrenders willingly to the unguarded moments of life. For some time, the safeguards of our thinking pattern weaken and discontinue the decoding of the chips of daily reality. The mind picks the instants which are above suspicion, pure and innocent. ("Uber alle Gipfeln ist Ruh" )

When time furtively slips like sand through the fingers and our memory becomes tired and lazy, we recognize we are at war. We are at war with forgetfulness. ("The past was her best friend" )

Worldly life (sansar) means to get tired and to rest.

You know what really wears you out? People telling you that you look tired all the time!

You wander. You work nearly every job known to man, it seems, only to arrive at the wonderings of philosophy.

A dangerous thesis has taken hold among many in the GOP: that it might be better to lose the '06 election and re-group. In American history, when a faction in the majority party decides the party is tired and could benefit from some time in the wilderness, the voters usually oblige. Most recently, the latest issue of Washington Monthly includes a cover story featuring seven such articles from prominent Republican strategists, insiders and commentators.