Boredom—I wouldn't look at anything.

Boredom—I wouldn't look at anything. And why? Because there's rot inside. What's the cure? Patience. Look at those young birches: how terrified they were in the autumn winds and winter blizzards, and now look how they're putting out their buds—as if bragging. So it is with us: the more we endure, the more we rejoice.

Venerable Anatoly of Optina