One receives as reward for much ennui, despondency, boredom-such as a solitude without friends, books, duties, passions must bring with it-those quarter-hours of profoundest contemplation within oneself and nature. He who completely entrenches himself against boredom also entrenches himself against himself: he will never get to drink the strongest refreshing draught from his own innermost fountain.

A subject for a great poet would be God's boredom after the seventh day of creation.

What is the task of higher education? To make a man into a machine. What are the means employed? He is taught how to suffer being bored.

Even the most beautiful scenery is no longer assured of our love after we have lived in it for three months, and some distant coast attracts our avarice: possessions are generally diminished by possession.

Let us be careful, lest out of pure honesty we eventually become saints and bores! Is not life a hundred times too short for us-to bore ourselves?

Tomorrow never happens. It's all the same fucking day, man.