#do

Monotony has nothing to do with a place; monotony, either in its sensation or its infliction, is simply the quality of a person. There are no dreary sights; there are only dreary sight seers. ↗

— G.K. Chesterton

#marshes #monotony #boredom

One wonders what would happen in a society in which there were no rules to break. Doubtless everyone would quickly die of boredom. ↗

— Susan Howatch

#boredom

Well, if you weren't flirting with him"-his voice had now grown a little plaintive-"who was he, and what did you want with him anyway?" "If you are so determined to bore me, I may just have to go home." Astrid sighed carelessly, "What a shame, when I am wearing such a pretty dress. ↗

— Anna Godbersen

#boredom #flirting #boredom

What we have to learn, in both meditation and in life, is to be free of attachment to the good experiences, and free of aversion to the negative ones. ↗

— Soygal Rinpoche

#experience

Maybe happiness too is a metaphor invented on a day of boredom ↗

— Gustave Flaubert

#boredom

In Japan, a number of time-honored everyday activities (such as making tea, arranging flowers, and writing) have traditionally been deeply examined by their proponents. Students study how to make tea, perform martial arts, or write with a brush in the most skillful way possible to express themselves with maximum efficiency and minimum strain. Through this efficient, adroit, and creative performance, they arrive at art. But if they continue to delve even more deeply into their art, they discover principles that are truly universal, principles relating to life itself. Then, the art of brush writing becomes shodo—the “Way of the brush”—while the art of arranging flowers is elevated to the status of kado—the “Way of flowers.” Through these Ways or Do forms, the Japanese have sought to realize the Way of living itself. They have approached the universal through the particular. ↗

— H.E. Davey

#budo #do #efficiency #flowers #ikebana

Wilf: God bless the cactuses! The Doctor: That's cactI. Alien: And that's racist! ↗

— Russell T. Davies

#the-end-of-time #blessings

He strips his shirt over his head and I catch my breath, watching those long hard muscles ripple. I know how his shoulders look, bunched, when he's on top of me, how his face gets tight with lust, as he eases inside me. "Who am I?" "Jericho" "Who are you?" He kicks off his boots, steps out of his pants. He's commando tonight. My breath whooshes out of me in a run-on word: "Whogivesafuck? ↗

— Karen Marie Moning

#mac #shadowfever #lust

And this, even more wonderful and mysterious, is also true: when I read it, when I read what Julie's written, she is instantly alive again, whole and undamaged. With her words in my mind while I'm reading, she is as real as I am. Gloriously daft, drop-dead charming, full of bookish nonsense and foul language, brave and generous. She's right here. Afraid and exhausted, alone, but fighting. Flying in silver moonlight in a plane that can't be landed, stuck in the climb—alive, alive, ALIVE. ↗

— Elizabeth Wein

#maddie-bradott #nonsense

Male or female, if my name were either Don or Dawn, I’d be up at sunrise to celebrate the glory that is me.
 ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#celebration #dawn #don #female #glory