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Rudyard Kipling 200
English short-story writer, poet, and novelist 1865–1936Related quotes

“It's my heart that is tired. A thirteen-year-old heart shouldn't feel like this.”
Source: The Book Thief

“Sometimes my feet are tired and my hands are quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart.”

“First of all:
I am tired.
I am true of heart!
And also:
You are tired.
You are true of heart!”
A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius (2000)

“I am tired; my heart is sick and sad. From where the Sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.”
Speech in surrendering to General Nelson Appleton Miles after long evading a pursuit nearly to the border of Canada. (October 5, 1877)
Context: Tell General Howard I know his heart. What he told me before, I have it in my heart. I am tired of fighting. Our Chiefs are killed; Looking Glass is dead, Ta Hool Hool Shute is dead. The old men are all dead. It is the young men who say yes or no. He who led on the young men is dead. It is cold, and we have no blankets; the little children are freezing to death. My people, some of them, have run away to the hills, and have no blankets, no food. No one knows where they are — perhaps freezing to death. I want to have time to look for my children, and see how many of them I can find. Maybe I shall find them among the dead. Hear me, my Chiefs! I am tired; my heart is sick and sad. From where the Sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.

The Inferno (1917), Ch. XVI
Context: The woman from the depths of her rags, a waif, a martyr — smiled. She must have a divine heart to be so tired and yet smile. She loved the sky, the light, which the unformed little being would love some day. She loved the chilly dawn, the sultry noontime, the dreamy evening. The child would grow up, a saviour, to give life to everything again. Starting at the dark bottom he would ascend the ladder and begin life over again, life, the only paradise there is, the bouquet of nature. He would make beauty beautiful. He would make eternity over again with his voice and his song. And clasping the new-born infant close, she looked at all the sunlight she had given the world. Her arms quivered like wings. She dreamed in words of fondling. She fascinated all the passersby that looked at her. And the setting sun bathed her neck and head in a rosy reflection. She was like a great rose that opens its heart to the whole world.

“A tired flying bird
Has to perch somewhere to rest.
So should my old knees.”
Wanderings with Poetry (2007)