Quotes About Melancholy

But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, Or on the wealth of globed peonies; Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?

I sit, and moan, Like one who once had wings.

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs

Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine

She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips: Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine, Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might, And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

My heart aches, a drowsy numbness pains as if of hemlock I had drunk.

Despite its abbreviated length, February's always struck me as an especially bleak month, at least in these parts. I know it's not the darkest month, and I know it's not the coldest or the snowiest month, but February is gray in a way I can't explain. In February, all the big happy holidays are gone, and it's weeks and weeks -months, even- until Easter and spring.

October, not April, would be the cruelest month.

And still as an adult like I do as well, you know what I mean like I literally just cried in the first interview that I had today. Like, I'm just a very emotional human.

There are no words that can tell the hidden spirit of the wilderness, that can reveal its mystery, its melancholy and its charm.

I cannot sing the old songs, I sang long years ago, For heart and voice would fail me, And foolish tears would flow.

Every human walks around with a certain kind of sadness. They may not wear it on their sleeves, but its there if you look deep.

Heavy clouds and rain pouring down. They look how I feel.

I hate being in a sad depressed mood for no reason...

I wish they had a word for being happy and sad at the same time because that's what I feel every time I am with you.

You will never know the pain I felt. You will never know the tears I've experienced. You will never know that your love made me melt. You will never know because you're the one who caused all of it.

That's because they're of the past. All photos of the past look melancholy and wistful precisely because they capture something that's gone.

You're like a song that I heard when I was a little kid but forgot I knew until I heard it again.

And in your absence, I cried like I never did before I cried with all senses I cried as if I'm raining As if I'm melting all at once.

Andorinha Andorinha lá fora está dizendo: — "Passei o dia à toa, à toa!" Andorinha, andorinha, minha cantiga é mais triste! Passei a vida à toa, à toa . . .

The true paradises are the paradises that we have lost.

that melancholy which we feel when we cease to obey orders which, from one day to another, keep the future hidden, and realise that we have at last begun to live in real earnest, as a grown-up person, the life, the only life that any of us has at his disposal.

The zone of melancholy which I then entered was as distinct from the zone in which I had been bounding with joy a moment before as, in certain skies, a band of pink is separated, as though by a line invisibly ruled, from a band of green or black. You may see a bird flying across the pink; it draws near the border-line, touches it, enters and is lost upon the black.