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“I am not a finished poem, and I am not the song you’ve turned me into. I am a detached human being, making my way in a world that is constantly trying to push me aside, and you who send me letters and emails and beautiful gifts wouldn’t even recognise me if you saw me walking down the street where I live tomorrow
for I am not a poem.
I am tired and worn out and the eyes you would see would not be painted or inspired
but empty and weary
from drinking too much
at all times
and I am not the life of your party who sings and has glorious words to speak
for I don’t speak much
at all
and my voice is raspy and unsteady from unhealthy living and not much sleep and I only use it when I sing and I always sing too much
or not at all
and never when people are around because they expect poems and symphonies and I am not
a poem
but an elegy
at my best
but unedited and uncut and not a lot of people want to work with me because there’s only so much you can do with an audio take, with the plug-ins and EQs and I was born distorted, disordered, and I’m pretty fine with that,
but others are not.”
― Charlotte Eriksson, Another Vagabond Lost To Love: Berlin Stories on Leaving & Arriving

“Sometimes I wonder, that one missing sock after doing laundry, is the smart one. After being unhappy for so long, it finally walks away from a frayed, worn-out relationship.”
― Anthony Liccione

“Sometimes the idea of living as a hermit appeals to all of us. No demands, no needs, no pain, no disappointments. But that is because we have been hurt, are worn out.”
― John Eldredge

“I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees and her book in my hands. Like a lot of things in my life, I'd just about worn it out, but it was worn out with love, and that's the best kind of worn-out there is. Maybe we're like all those used cars, broken hand tools, articles of old clothing, scratched record albums, and dog-eared books. Maybe there really isn't any such thing as mortality; that life simply wears us out with love.”
― Craig Johnson, Kindness Goes Unpunished

“Here, on a human face, appeared all the ruin following upon hopeless labour. Laveuve's unkempt beard straggled over his features, suggesting an old horse that is no longer cropped; his toothless jaws were quite askew, his eyes were vitreous, and his nose seemed to plunge into his mouth. But above all else one noticed his resemblance to some beast of burden, deformed by hard toil, lamed, worn to death, and now only good for the knackers.”
― Émile Zola, Paris

“Go to where ever dreamland you decide on. But go with passion hand-in-hand. You will never be tired on the way!”
― Israelmore Ayivor, The Great Hand Book of Quotes

“Shoes are like society. Once in awhile they have to replace the worn out souls.”
― Kate McGahan

“You know what really wears you out? People telling you that you look tired all the time!”
― Stewart Stafford

“Choose the paths which are not worn out by many feet!”
― Mehmet Murat ildan

“The heat finally left space for breathing and crisp air. The trees undressed and coloured the streets and I found myself changing with the season. I so badly wanted to be that force of nature, that fire no one can touch, but I was tired. Tired, tired, tired, of being me and if I had one inch of energy to be something beautiful, I would have, but all I could care about was to make it home before it got dark.”
― Charlotte Eriksson, Empty Roads & Broken Bottles: in search for The Great Perhaps

“Having made a few bicycles in factories, having written some thousands of rather senseless advertisements, having rubbed affectionately the legs of a few race horses, having tried blunderingly to love a few women and having written a few novels that did not satisfy me or anyone else, having done these few things, could I begin now to think of myself as tired out and done for? Because my own hands had for the most part served me so badly could I let them lie beside me in idleness?”
― Sherwood Anderson, A Story Teller's Story

“Me?" I looked up and grinned back. "Nobody loves me. So, I'm doing okay."

"You look a little worn out, if you ask me.”
― Sara Hosey, Iphigenia Murphy

“Once in the taxi he recalled how Herbert had introduced him to a group of strangers. ‘I want you to shake the hand of the most brilliant student of our class at McGill. He could have been a success at anything he wanted. Instead he’s devoted his life to teaching.â€� It was clear that they still took him for the freshly scrubbed idealist who had left McGill twenty years ago. They had no idea that he was exhausted, bitter, and drained, and that given the chance he would never become a teacher.”
― Mordecai Richler, The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz

“And our hearts cry, “How long? How far? How much more?”
― Nicole Williams, RISE UP: Believing God When the World is Falling Apart

“I feel so tired, so tired . . . worn out, heavy. I’ve got indigestion
and my tummy’s all blown out. I feel sleepy all the time.”
― Eugène Ionesco, Amédée, ya da nasıl başından atarsın onu

“Jay got up and walked to the trash to scrape off his plate, but when the trash can popped open, he stopped and reached in. Mae got cold inside. Shit. That was where she had put everything from her satisfying clear-out earlier in the day, and she hadn't covered up the things she was discarding with other trash, as she usually did. Damn it! She knew exactly what was coming. Jay stood up with a ratty stuffed chicken in his hand.
"You can't throw this away. Ryder loves this."
He did, but Mae hated it. The little stuffed chicken---a gift from her sister when Ryder was born---had grown gray and smelly and was beyond washing, and Mae had been able to slip it away from Ryder's bed for several nights running. With the trip, she figured he would forget about it, although she'd felt a tiny twinge of regret as she'd stuffed it into the trash can. It was just that it was so gross now, and there were so many stuffies. If she didn't get rid of them, they'd take over.
"He doesn't care about it. Not really," she said. It sounded weak, even to her. "It's so filthy, Jay. He's little. He'll like other things. It's just junk, anyway."
Jay turned on her. "You don't always get to decide what's junk, Mae. You don't get to pick and choose everything we have and everything we do and everywhere we go."
"I don't. Just---some things. And it's not the same."
Throwing away a toy was not the same as making all their life decisions---and how could she not make decisions right now, when everything Jay wanted to do felt so precarious? Couldn't he see that they wanted the same things, for the world to stay nice and safe and solid around Madison and Ryder and around themselves? She knew Jay had moved around a lot as a kid, and that at least once his dad had handed him a shoebox and told him if it didn't fit in there, it couldn't come. But sometimes you had to get rid of those things, even things you once loved, to make room for better things.
And sometimes you made mistakes. Don't bring up the baseball glove. Don't bring up the baseball glove.
She hadn't known the baseball glove was a perfectly worn-in classic Rawlings. Or that Jay had been hoping Madison or Ryder might use it someday. All she'd seen was that it was old. And kinda moldy. She honestly hadn't thought he would notice it was gone.”
― K.J. Dell'Antonia, The Chicken Sisters

“Don't be weary nor worn out.”
― Lailah Gifty Akita

“If you worry, you will worn out.”
― Lailah Gifty Akita

“He could be tired- but not asleep. I needed him to wake up.”
― Francine Prose, After