“I hate the lackadaisical ennui of a sun too preoccupied with itself to notice the infinite hours we spend in its presence.”

“Ennui is the echo in us of time tearing itself apart.”

“I had neglected to provide myself with books, and as we crept along at the dull rate of four miles per hour, I soon felt the foul fiend Ennui coming upon me”

“The sun sets and we sleep. The sun rises and we wake. We wake and, ever so briefly, ever so blindly, we enjoy the fantasy of beginning anew. Then, without fail, reality reasserts its presence.”

“He exuded the air of someone who hated this earth and everything on it and would be much happier if it just broke free of its orbit and hurled itself into the sun.”

“Oh kindly books! Like true and trusted friends: What blessed cheer your presence with us lends. Whene'er we spend a pleasant hour with you. We find renewed delight, and treasure's new. Dear Friendly Books.”