There is no such thing on earth as an uninteresting subject; the only thing that can exist is an uninterested person.

There are no uninteresting things, only uninterested people.

Life is nothing if you're not obsessed.

If we worry too much about ourselves, we won't have time for others

It would be a dull world if we all thought alike.

Life would be unbearably bland if we had no enemies on whom to waste efforts and energy.

And, of course, people are interested only in themselves. If a story is not about the hearer he will not listen.

How is it possible to be uninterested in other men and by virtue of what cold nonchalance can you detach yourself from the life that they supply so copiously?

If anything is possible, then nothing is interesting.

Is life not a thousand times too short for us to bore ourselves?

The “I” was not, is not, and never will be a part of human personality. There is nothing unique, or “different,” or interesting about it. On the contrary, the more human beings pursue it, the more uniform, uninteresting, and impersonal they become. The faster things move in circles, the sooner they become indistinguishable blurs. It is obvious that the only interesting people are interested people, and to be completely interested is to have forgotten about “I.

You can tell how uninteresting a person is by asking him whom he finds interesting.

It is possible to move through the drama of our lives without believing so earnestly in the character that we play. That we take ourselves so seriously, that we are so absurdly important in our own minds, is a problem for us. We feel justified in being annoyed with everything. We feel justified in denigrating ourselves or in feeling that we are more clever than other people. Self-importance hurts us, limiting us to the narrow world of our likes and dislikes. We end up bored to death with ourselves and our world. We end up never satisfied.

Life is impoverished, it loses in interest, when the highest stake in the game of living, life itself, may not be risked. It becomes as shallow and empty as, let us say, an American flirtation.