“Duly twice a morning
Would I be sprinkling it with fountain-water.
At last it grew, and grew, and bore, and bore,
Till at the length
It grew a gallows, and did bear our son,
It bore thy fruit and mine: O wicked, wicked plant.”

“In many cases when a reader puts a story aside because it 'got boring,' the boredom arose because the writer grew enchanted with his powers of description and lost sight of his priority, which is to keep the ball rolling.”

“I'd hate to die twice. It's so boring.”

“You get bored on the road and even a bottle, of water can be fun, if you're bored enough.”

“Other lands became a larder full of all the good things
All we had to do was go and take
Blood the colour of the rain that grew our wicked harvest
Black the colour icing on our cake”

“I loved: and in the morning sky,
A magic castle upward grew!”

“You can't be boring. Life is boring. The weather is boring. Actors must not be boring.”

“You don't know what these beans are, said the man [that Jack meets]. If you plant them overnight, by morning they grew right up to the sky.”

“She didn't bother to understand it all; it was--boring boring boring.”

“Politeness is the art of bearing boredom without being bored.”