Books are many things: lullabies for the weary, ointment for the wounded, armour for the fearful and nests for those in need of a home.
Thou hadst, for weary feet, the gift of rest.
Weary of myself, and sick of asking What I am, and what I ought to be, At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea.
Sit Rest Work. Alone with yourself, Never weary. On the edge of the forest Live joyfully, Without desire.
Oh, cold world -- I have grown so weary of you and all your horrible bathrooms.
Without poets, without artists, men would soon weary of nature's monotony.
What a weary time those years were -- to have the desire and the need to live but not the ability.
October's gold is dim — the forests rot, The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day Is wrapped in damp.
The reason that lovers never weary each other is because they are always talking about themselves.
There is many a virtuous woman weary of her trade.
I am more weary of life, I think, than ever I was.
Lincoln-sad, patient, kindly Lincoln, who after bearing upon his weary shoulders for four years a greater burden than that borne by any other man of the nineteenth century laid down his life for the people whom living he had served as well-built upon his early study of the Bible.
We are almost always wearied in the company of persons with whom we are not permitted to be weary.
How do our lives ravel out into the no-wind, no-sound, the weary gestures wearily recapitulant: echoes of old compulsions with no-hand on no-string: in sunset we fall into furious attitudes, dead gestures of dolls.
Cut the Wings of your Hens and Hopes, lest they lead you a weary Dance after them.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary.
Heaven grew weary of the excessive pride and luxury of China. . . I am from the Barbaric North. I wear the same clothing and eat the same food as the cowherds and horse-herders. We make the same sacrifices and we share. . our riches. I look upon the nation as a new-born child and I care for my soldiers as though they were my brothers.
Man's life seems to me like a long, weary night that would be intolerable if there were not occasionally flashes of light, the sudden brightness of which is so comforting and wonderful, that the moments of their appearance cancel out and justify the years of darkness.
People do not persist in their vices because they are not weary of them, but because they cannot leave them off. It is the nature of vice to leave us no resource but in itself.
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.