Sister Simplicitie! Sing, sing a song to me,-- Sing me to sleep! Some legend low and long, Slow as the summer song Of the dull Deep.
Many books in popular psychology are a melange of the author's comments, a dollop of research, and stupefyingly dull transcriptions from interviews.
Early to bed and early to rise makes a person dull, boring, and despised.
Appearance is everything. I find that a view is secondary. Even in those apartments on the East River, it's dull, looking out at those little boats.
It's guilty of the very thing that makes kids hate history as a subject when it's taught badly: The Da Vinci Code makes the past feel like a dull, grainy, faraway thing, instead of something vibrant and alive.
Now I will give you a piece of advice. I will tell you something that I absolutely believe you should do, and if you do not do it you will never be a witer. It is a certain truth. When your pencil is dull, sharpen it. And when your pencil is sharp, use it until it is dull again.
Dried peas and beans, being rather on the dull side, much like dull people respond readily to the right contacts.
It seems that bad advice that's fun will always be better known than than good advice that's dull-no matter how useless that fun advice is.
As people get older they have these rigid patterns that they impose on themselves, and it kills them. They become dull, they become dead to new experience, they become afraid, biased, and bigoted. It's really simply to do with refusing new experience.
There is a strong conservative instinct in the average man or woman, born of the hereditary fear of life, that prompts them to cling to old standards, or, if too intelligent to look inhospitably upon progress, to move very slowly. Both types are the brakes and wheelhorses necessary to a stable civilization, but history, even current history in the newspapers, would be dull reading if there were no adventurous spirits willing to do battle for new ideas.
If reading becomes a bore, mental death is on the way. Children taught to read by tedious mechanical means rapidly learn to skim over the dull text without bothering to delve into its implications -- which in time will make them prey to propaganda and to assertions based on scanty evidence, or none.
Imagination is a great thing in long dull hours, but it's a real curse in a dark alley.
Thoughts! what are they? They are my constant friends, who, when harsh fate its dull brow bends, uncloud me with a smiling ray, and in the depth of midnight force a day.
Whether one is twenty, forty, or sixty; whether one has succeeded, failed or just muddled along; whether yesterday was full of sun or storm, or one of those dull days with no weather at all, life begins each morning!
There is nothing in nature quite so joyful as the very young and silly lamb - odd that it should develop into that dull and sober animal the sheep.
One thing must be avoided at all costs: narrow-mindedness, pedantry, dull pettiness.
I sit and pass judgment on myself: this is dull, this is unclear, this is insignificant: ergo I am dull, I am unclear, I am insignificant.
There is something electrifying about individuals with adventuresome spirits. They see life through a different lens. They almost emit electricity because nothing about them is dull or uninteresting or unplugged.
Feeling intimidated is a good sign. Writing from a place of safety produces stuff that is at best dull and at worst dishonest.
Another merit of home is that it preserves the diversity between individuals. If we were all alike, it might be convenient for the bureaucrat and the statistician, but it would be very dull, and would lead to a very unprogressive society.
There are dull and bright, sacred and profane, coarse and fine egotists. It is a disease that, like influenza, falls on all constitutions. In the distemper known to physicians as chorea, the patient sometimes turns round, and continues to spin slowly in one spot. Is egotism a metaphysical varioloid of this malady?
There's nothing surprising about me. I'm dull. I am a fan of the New York subway. I love it.
whatever San Francisco is or is not, it is never dull. Life there is in a perpetual ferment. It is as though the city kettle had been set on the stove to boil half a century ago and had never been taken off. The steam is pouring out of the nose. The cover is dancing up and down. The very kettle is rocking and jumping. But by some miracle the destructive explosion never happens.
I do not believe in guilt, moderation or dull pencils.
And just as I begin to believe that all is well, there is some subtle change in the light. The room takes its true shape. I fight to go back to that blissful ignorance, but it is too late. The dull pain of truth weights my soul, pulling it under. I am left hopelessly awake.
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