One can only be constantly envious of other people’s achievements through idleness, because true dreamers are too focused on their goals and dreams to be worrying about other people’s business.
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.
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery? (Just to give you an idea, Proust’s reply was ‘To be separated from Mama.’) I think that the lowest depth of misery ought to be distinguished from the highest pitch of anguish. In the lower depths come enforced idleness, sexual boredom, and/or impotence. At the highest pitch, the death of a friend or even the fear of the death of a child.
An idle genius is an oxymoron.
There is no harvest without hard work, therefore never expect chance to solve your problems of abject need for you. You must take deliberate actions!
Nobody does nothing. Everybody does something, sometimes nothing is something in the idle man’s world.
I didn’t want to give up my job and join the ranks of the Doing Fuck All brigade no matter how much money I had in the bank.
Work was intended not to give a man a reason to live, but rather to give him a means to live.
Our dreams take us into other worlds, alternative realities that help us make sense of day-to-day realities.
“Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.
Four be the things I’d been better without:
Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.
Three be the things I shall never attain:
Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.
Three be the things I shall have till I die:
Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye.