“They were connoisseurs of boredom. They savoured the various bouquets of the subtly differentiated boredoms which rose from the long, wasted hours at the dead end of night.”

“Boredom is the feeling that everything is a waste of time; serenity, that nothing is.”

“Does it matter how long they were together that night? To lovers, an hour can last a century. But even for lovers, every hour ends.”

“I sat there for three hours and did not feel the time or the boredom of our talk and its foolish disconnection. As long as I could hear his voice, I was quite lost, quite blind, quite outside my own self.”

“Life is a waste of wearisome hours
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns;
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers,
Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.”

“To him boredom was a tragedy, for he had no more realization than if he had been an animal that any state he was in would ever come to an end.”

“A month passes by and brings another month.
Easy to guess what lies ahead:
all of yesterday’s boredom.
And tomorrow ends up no longer like tomorrow.”

“Yes, it's a great feeling to get a bouquet of roses for name day. But chocolate can be eaten.”

“The pain night will be ended
And separation pain will be remedied
Unaware of this fact that this night is so long
And from that night to morning there are hundred years.”

“But there isn’t an outside. Talking about “society’s outcasts” or “opting out” is so much whaledreck. The fact that we generate huge quantities of waste is all that allows people to go outside; they’re benefiting from the superficial affluence which conformists use to alleviate boredom. In essence, using the term “out” is as meaningless as trying to define a location outside the universe. There’s no place for “outside” to be.”