Best 1295 quotes in «tired quotes» category

I had a vision. I lay half asleep in the dirt. The sunset Behind the hills and burnt my skin. And in the dream I saw a throne--my throne, Built on the tower of my life. When I woke all I could think of was my Vision, etched so clearly on my mind. I worked for three days and three nights With no food or drink, until my vision Had become a reality--perfect in every Detail. I pondered the significance of this Edifice and shook off my trance.... I felt tired, I felt lonely, I felt confused, I felt so bloody confused, I felt like a right prat!

I know most of you have dozed off before, but have any of you ever dozed on?

I'm just like the tree... strong-looking but slowly dying.

I'm just so tired of life being something that happens to me. That's not how it's supposed to work. I'm supposed to make my own life.

I have a love / hate relationship with things and places the same way I do with people. And I’m getting tired of this place, feeling as if each corner here is asking me to leave; Leave and never come back again …

I’m sick and tired of looking around at everyone else falling in love, and telling myself that I don’t deserve it, too.

I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired,' said Maxie. 'I know how that feels,' said Blue. 'I think some Pharaoh had that carved on his tomb,' Maxie added. 'Yeah? Times don't change much, do they?

I’m not the Princess, I’m the Dragon. I will roast you and eat you whole

I'm tired of feeling like I'm fucking crazy. I'm tired of driving till I see stars in my eyes.

I'm tired as an ancient star; that witnessed the emergence of the universe, and got weary of existence.

I said I was "just tired", but I never told you what I was tired of.

I’m tired of pretending, tired of acting like everything’s okay, tired of not being with him…

I smoke. It's expensive. It's also the best option. You see, I am always, always exhausted. It's a stimulant. When I am too tired to walk one more step, I can smoke and go for another hour. When I am enraged and beaten down and incapable of accomplishing one more thing, I can smoke and feel a little better, just for a minute. It is the only relaxation I am allowed.

It takes so much energy to keep things at bay.

{McCabe on the influential scientist Luther Burbank} His magnificent work, which added an incalculable sum to the wealth of America and left him a comparatively poor man, is well known. His own simple account of his discoveries runs to 12 volumes and is incomplete. I was one of the few men whom he admitted to his house in Santa Rosa in the few months before he died and I found him advanced even beyond the vague Emersonian theism of his earlier years. He agreed to see me, he said, though he was tired and ill, because of his admiration of my work as a rationalist. He had just raised a storm by a public declaration that he did not believe in a future life, and his biographer Wilbur Hale repeats this.

I sleep and sleep and sleep, yet I still have an unquenchable thirst for it.

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.

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 dog-ear tired…

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

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

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

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.

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.

…–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…

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

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

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.

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?

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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 ..

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

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