Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Lull. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Lull Quotes And Sayings by 97 Authors including Graham Mctavish,Tahar Rahim,Vladimir Nabokov,Marcel Proust,Avijeet Das for you to enjoy and share.
I am the complete and utter definition of a Luddite.
I don't know how to get bored. I need to learn to rest.
The day, like the previous days, dragged sluggishly by in a kind of insipid idleness, devoid even of that dreamy expectancy which can make idleness so enchanting.
The comfort of reclusion, the poetry of hibernation
But what is life without a passion?
Silence is not lost time.
Enjoy the contented silence.
The Desert settled back to sleep,
No season now for calm, familiar talk.
What a fucking bore people are.
As the game enters its glorious final weeks, the chill of fall signals the reality of defeat for all but one team. The fields of play will turn brown and harden, the snow will fall, but in the heart of the fan sprouts a sprig of green.
and the rest is silence
Now I take the summer off, relax, and I know that at the end of July we're gonna start another season.
I need some downtime before I go to sleep.
Well, quite softly, one day following another, a spring on a winter, and an autumn after a summer, this wore away, piece by piece, crumb by crumb; it passed away, it is gone, I should say it has sunk; for something always remains at the bottom as one would say - a weight here, at one's heart.
We need time to lose interest in things.
Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn
An eerie silence has descended over the house. Every few minutes, I hear a grunt and the scraping sound of a box dragging along the floor. Other than that, there's nothing. It's like the silence is the actual articulation of the emptiness we all feel.
The pause - that impressive silence, that eloquent silence, that geometrically progressive silence which often achieves a desired effect where no combination of words, howsoever felicitous, could accomplish it.
Only the boring get bored
No rhythm, no life.
Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.br>After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,br>we ourselves flash and yearn
Sleep, my little one, sleep.
I took some time out for life.
I noticed, as I had done before, that there was a lull among the mosquitoes about midnight, and that they began again in the morning. Nature is thus merciful. But apparently they need rest as well as we.
Whenever you squander attention on something that doesn't put your brain through its paces and stimulate change, your mind stagnates a little and life feels dull.
The emptiness of our boredom met with the emptiness of these supposed signs.
I take a hiatus every now and again, but I'm not good at that.
Life and Death took a break,
weary from their burdensome role.
Nobody lived or died that day.
I don't know what silence sounds like anymore.
Nothing recedes like success.
Silence hung in the air like secret loss.
In every sound, the hidden silence sleeps.
He who seeks rest finds boredom. He who seeks work finds rest.
The most boring thing in the world? Silence.
My boredom with everything has numbed me.
Waxes and wanes with no predictable schedule or trigger.
I needed sleep. Big squishy bunches of it. Soon.
The world went luscious, and slow, and still.
Mediocrity will stop at nothing.
It is as if everything else in the world stops as we lie here in the summer night.
The last thing I need is rest.
When life is empty, with respect to the past, and aimless, with respect to the future, the vacuum is filled by the present - normally reduced to a hairline, a split second in which there is no time for anything to happen.
The timeless instant passed.
Enjoy The
Sound Of Silence.
A gentle silence descended on them, suggestive of the flow of time.
Lu felt his heart do a strange thing. It hurt. It opened. It beat.
You know that great pause that comes upon things before the dusk? Even the breeze stops in the trees. To me there is always an air of expectation about that evening stillness.
I crave stillness,
And yet I fear the moment
Stillness turns into boredom,
And the moment boredom
Turns into loneliness.
It is always dullest before the yawn.
You know how it is- you get used to something, people rely on you, one day you wake up and you can't tell Tuesday from Thursday. You're doing the same boring stuff.
Down with boredom. It has to go.
The Earth dark and quiet, the way it was before we showed up to fill it with noise and light. Something ends. Something new begins. This was the in-between time. The pause.
Death follows stagnation
There is no stillness like the quiet of the first cold nights in the fall.
The next few months passed away, as many years can pass away, without definite events, and yet, if suddenly disturbed, it would be seen that such months or years had a character unlike others.
I have no intention of taking a break
Jump to another weird sick disappointment just coming over the horizon.
What's going on?"
"We seem to be trapped in an episode of One Life to Waste," Magnus observed. "Its all very dull."
-Alec & Magnus, pg.144-
husk of a vanished person.
A period of silence on your part would be appreciated.
Stagnation and inactivity bring spiritual death.
I am a horrible hollow kind of tired; all I want is quiet and rest.
Time crawls in the silence. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tock. Tock. Tock.
A rut ... is little more than a coffin with the ends kicked out.
Our lives are rounded with a sleep.
I let my summer days pass idly on.
It is no disgrace to rest a bit.
That is the end of absence - the loss of lack. The daydreaming silences in our lives are filled; the burning solitudes are extinguished.
Justice never sleeps.
Too much down time makes us miss home.
My life feels, week to week, incomplete to the level of being pointless if I am not in preparation for the next play or, ideally, into it.
They come and go like seasons, the winter that gives no thought to the spring.
Life has changed into a timeless succession of shocks, interspaced with empty, paralysed intervals.
I've reached an unexpected point in my life where I no longer have the passion that I once did for the company, for the games and for the challenge of creation,
Football lost its excitement for me.
It's sadness coming on like the old days, the vast seamless hopeless weight of sadness looking for a place to rest.
What is this sleep which holds you now?
You are lost in the dark and cannot hear me.
June, July, all through the warm months she hibernated like a winter animal who did not know spring had come and gone.
After finals and winter break ... after I'm back to full strength, we'll go get Preston. Whether Mom and Abby and Joe and Townsend like it or not, we'll go get him. And then ... ' I trailed off. 'And then we'll finish this. Next semester, this thing ends.
Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
I'm not very happy idle.
Death's brother, sleep.
At the end of the season of sorrows comes the time of rejoicing. Spring, like a well-oiled clock, noiselessly indicates this time.
There is a dead spot in the night, that coldest, blackest time when the world has forgotten evening and dawn is not yet a promise. A time when it is far too early to arise, but so late that going to bed makes small sense.
A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.
My soul is in a state of perpetual Autumn.
My absence was gradual, until one day it was complete.
O fool, what else is sleep but chill death's likeness?
Call me bored, but don't call me boring.
The way to resumption is to resume.
Such days of autumnal decline hold a strange mystery which adds to the gravity of all our moods.
Laziness has many disguises. Soon "winter doldrums" will become "spring fever."
Felt drained. Watching the life of the
Everyone was searching for something, conducting lively arguments, getting excited, but behind it all one felt weariness, disillusion, emptiness.
ludic: cigarette
Like a long train which stops at every dingy little station, the winter dragged slowly past.
There are things that drift away like our endless, numbered days
So it comes to this; one doesn't need rest. Why bother about sleep if one isn't sleepy? That stands to reason, doesn't it? Wait a minute, there's a snag somewhere; something disagreeable. Why, now, should it be disagreeable? ... Ah, I see; it's life without a break.
When time stops, life starts.