Quotes About Melancholy

It was very sad under the trees. Although spring was well advanced, in the deep shade there was nothing but death-rotten leaves, gray and white fungi, and over everything a funeral hush.

The day stared back an empty gray, with not a speck of white to give character to the lifeless sky.

Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief

The zipper displaces the button and a man lacks just that much time to think while dressing at dawn, a philosophical hour, and thus a melancholy hour.

Leaves leave this world in beautiful fall colors and songs.

Living was a sad and empty thing

I love the autumn for its sense of melancholy seems to strike my need for sadness. There is poetry in the dying of the year and mystery as well.

Why is it that all men who are outstanding in philosophy, poetry or the arts are melancholic?

Poetry is just so emo." he said. "Oh, the pain. The pain. It always rains. In my soul.

Anybody who has listened to certain kinds of music, or read certain kinds of poetry, or heard certain kinds of performances on the concertina, will admit that even suicide has its brighter aspects.

death is a joyous journey for the purposeful life and a melancholy for the mediocre life

the anxiety arising from the perpetual activity of the death instinct, though never eliminated, is counteracted and kept at bay by the power of the life instinct.

But he heard high up in the air A piper piping away, And never was piping so sad, And never was piping so gay.

The first time I saw him he was cooking mushrooms for himself; the next time he was asleep under a hedge, smiling in his sleep. He was indeed always cheerful, though I thought I could see in his eyes (swift as the eyes of a rabbit, when they peered out of their wrinkled holes) a melancholy which was well-nigh a portion of their joy; the visionary melancholy of purely instinctive natures and of all animals.

Tell me not of joy: there's none Now my little sparrow's gone He, just as you, Would toy and woo, He would chirp and flatter me, He would hang the wing awhile, Till at length he saw me smile, Lord! how sullen he would be!

If aught of oaten stop or pastoral songMay hope, O pensive Eve, to soothe thine ear.

'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.

Sad was the Hour, and luckless was the Day. - Eclogue the Second: Hassan; or the Camel-driver

Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.

Life showed itself to me in different colors after I had once read Turgenev; it became more serious, more awful, and with mystical responsibilities I had not known before. My gay American horizons were bathed in the vast melancholy of the Slav, patient, agnostic, trustful.

Yisterday fair up sprang the flouris,This day thai are all slane with schouris;And fowles in forrest that sang cleirNow walkis with a drery cheir;Full caild are baith thair beddis and bouris.

Songs about death and lost love and rambling down the line because sometimes down the line was the only place left.

Whenever hope packed its bag and left for good, all that remained was a terrible emptiness, immeasurably sad.

Old Songs are more than tunes. They are little houses in which our hearts once lived. When we hear them we go visiting—we walk forgotten streets, we smile again at the skies of youth.