J. D. Martinez Quotes

I'm sick of the treadmill.

... nothing is so boring as devotion.

My life is very monotonous," the fox said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored.

When the life is monotonous , even grief is a welcome event.

My career is built around a pattern that just keeps repeating itself over and over again. There's nothing surprising about it at all. My changes are as easy to predict as the sun coming up and down.

It happens that the stage sets collapse. Rising, streetcar, four hours in the office or the factory, meal, streetcar, four hours of work, meal, sleep, and Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday and Saturday according to the same rhythm – this path is easily followed most of the time. But one day the “why” arises and everything begins in that weariness tinged with amazement.

There was much conversation, most of which sounded like the rest of it.

Every time I get something that's different than the last thing, I get excited. I don't want to play the same thing, every single time.

I wake up every morning. I open my eyes and think: here we go again.

Like warmed-up cabbage served at each repast, The repetition kills the wretch at last.

Boredom is the consciousness of repetition. Because animals cannot remember the past, they cannot feel bored. They cannot remember the past, so they cannot feel bored. They cannot remember the past, so they cannot feel the repetition. The buffalo goes on eating the same grass every day with the same delight. You cannot. How can you eat the same grass with the same delight? You get fed up.

Monotony and repetition are characteristic of many parts of life, but these do not become sources of conscious discomfort until novelty and entertainment are built up as positive experiences.

Day in, day out. That same old voodoo follows me about.

I don't need to be told the same thing every day, every morning, same words.

Continuity in everything is unpleasant.

one day in the country is exactly like another.

been there done that, bought the t-shirt" Chapter 2

The long mechanic pacings to and fro, The set, gray life, and apathetic end.

Painting bores me like everything else. Unfortunately, painting is one of the activities - it is bound up in the series of activities - that seems to change almost nothing in life, the same habits are always recurring.

The same old thing--even if it's champagne--is still the same old thing.

There's something about [cyclically] doing something over and over and over that seems to be particularly demotivating.

So many times I feel I'm using the same words over and over, like a woman wearing the same dress every day. So boring!

One listless day followed another, with nothing to distinguish one from the next. You could have changed the order and no one would have noticed.

That human existence should repeat itself, well and good, but that it should repeat itself like a hackneyed tune, or a record a drunkard keeps playing as he feeds coins into the jukebox...

That initial anger she had felt turned to sadness, and now it had become something else, almost a dullness of sorts. Even though she was constantly in motion, it seemed as if nothing special ever happened to her anymore. Each day seemed exactly like the last, and she had trouble differentiating among them.