“I was making for that city in the south of which it was said in our village:"There you'll find queer folk! Just think, they never sleep!""And why not?""Because they never get tired.""And why not?""Because they're fools.""Don't fools get tired?""How could fools get tired!"---Children on a Country Road, Contemplation.”

“I was heading for the city in the south, of which they used to say in our village:‘There are people for you! Just think—they never go to sleep!’‘And why don’t they?’‘Because they’re fools.’‘Don’t fools get tired, then?’‘How could fools get tired?”

“Why can't there be love that never gets tired?”

“I wish to Heaven I was married," she said resentfully as she attacked the yams with loathing. "I'm tired of everlastingly being unnatural and never doing anything I want to do. I'm tired of acting like I don't eat more than a bird, and walking when I want to run and saying I feel faint after a waltz, when I could dance for two days and never get tired. I'm tired of saying, 'How wonderful you are!' to fool men who haven't got one-half the sense I've got, and I'm tired of pretending I don't know anything, so men can tell me things and feel important while they're doing it... I can't eat another bite.”

“Don't you ever get tired of asking questions?''Never. They're mother's milk to me.”

“To Hades with you, fool, for God hath tired of you.”