Anna Katharine Green Quotes

How does one get bored of life?

Behind their eyes the hope was sickening and in many, dead. They lived from event to event with a subtle terror of the gap between, filling up their lives with distractions to avoid the emptiness where curiosity should have been.

There is something more terrible than a hell of suffering--a hell of boredom.

Boredom slays more of existence than war.

The only horrible thing in the world is ennui.

Life creates itself in delirium and is undone in ennui.

I feel monotony and death to be almost the same.

Ennui is the echo in us of time tearing itself apart.

There is mercy for everyone, except those who are bored with life.

My chronic feelings of emptiness and boredom came from the fact that I was living a life based on my incapacities, which were numerous.

Boredom rests upon the nothingness that winds its way through existence; its giddiness, like that which comes from gazing down into an infinite abyss, is infinite.

Only now do I understand the war against boredom, the lost cause of empty hours, of empty days and nights.

To be bored to death is a form of suicide.

The existential vacuum manifests itself mainly in a state of boredom.

Hell is more bearable than nothingness.

Martin in particular concluded that man was born to live either in the convulsions of misery, or in the lethargy of boredom.

Emptiness and boredom: what a complete understatement. What I felt was complete desolation. Desolation, despair and boredom.

The two real problems in life are boredom and death.

In the end, it was the Sunday afternoons he couldn't cope with, and that terrible listlessness that starts to set in about 2:55, when you know you've taken all the baths that you can usefully take that day, that however hard you stare at any given paragraph in the newspaper you will never actually read it, or use the revolutionary new pruning technique it describes, and that as you stare at the clock the hands will move relentlessly on to four o'clock, and you will enter the long dark teatime of the soul.

I was oppressed with a sense of vague discontent and dissatisfaction with my own life, which was passing so quickly and uninterestingly, and I kept thinking it would be a good thing if I could tear my heart out of my breast, that heart which had grown so weary of life.

I have a sort of empty feeling; nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be worth the doing.

There is nothing so insupportable to man as to be in entire repose, without passion, occupation, amusement, or application. Then it is that he feels his own nothingness, isolation, insignificance, dependent nature, powerless, emptiness. Immediately there issue from his soul ennui, sadness, chagrin, vexation, despair.

I have often thought that when I do die it will be of sheer boredom.

And it isn't that I'm so unhappy I don't want to live anymore. That's not what it feels like. It feels more like I'm tired and bored and the party's gone on too long and I want to go home. I feel flat and there doesn't seem to be anything to look forward to, so I'd rather call it a day.

I wasn’t going anywhere and neither was the rest of the world. We were all just hanging around waiting to die and meanwhile doing little things to fill the space. Some of use weren’t even doing little things. We were vegetables.