tiredness

Oh! I know what I wanted to tell you _ you__l never guess who Thomas is chasing after now__mmm, never guess or can__ be bothered to guess _ it was a hard call. I yawned again, glancing at the bed, which was inviting me to clamber back inside and pull the sheet over my head. So tempting, but not practical.

He looked very tired, a regard which manifested itself not in dark circles, or pallor, but a dreamy and bright-cheeked sadness.

There was another silence. I felt, above all, tired. Tiredness: if there was a constant symptom of the disease in our lives at this time, it was tiredness. At work we were unflagging; at home the smallest gesture of liveliness was beyond us. Mornings we awoke into a malign weariness that seemed only to have refreshed itself overnight.

Despite how long I'd slept, I was so tired--tired in my bones, in my crumpled heart."- Sarah J Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

You endure what is supposedly unbearable, and before you know it, you would have done the impossible by bearing the unbearable.

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.

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

I just realized that sleep sometimes is the only precious wage for the hard working man.

Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned.

I am too sick to lay downthe sidewalks frighten methe whole damned city frightens me,what I will becomewhat I have becomefrightens me.

I am so tired, I can hardly type these worfs.

Sometimes exhaustion is not a result of too much time spent on something, but of knowing that in its place, no time is spent on something else.

Just an emotional response of sentiments will only lead to tiredness and weariness.

He found himself understanding the wearisomeness of this life, where every path was an improvisation and a considerable part of one's waking life was spent watching one's feet.

He didnt know what was defeating him, but he sensed it was something he could not cope with, something that was far beyond his power to control or even at this point in time comprehend.

Exhaustion is a thin blanket tattered with bullet holes.

Heroes may die but they doesn't get tired.

There must be some kind of internal time distortion effect in here, because when I look at myself in the little mirror above my sink, what I see is my father's face, my face turning into his. I am beginning to feel how the man looked, especially how he looked on those nights he came home so tired he couldn't even make it through dinner without nodding off, sitting there with his bowl of soup cooling in front of him, a rich pork-and-winter-melon-saturated broth that, moment by moment, was losing - or giving up - its tiny quantum of heat into the vast average temperature of the universe.