Quotes About Melancholy

The fates and character of the rhyming tribe often employ my thoughts when I am disposed to be melancholy. There is not, among all the martyrologies that ever were penned, so rueful a narrative as the lives of the poets.

Like you were sad, maybe. And a bit scared.

Bu çox qÉ™ddar and?r. Sanki ömrün boyu hÉ™r gün yan?ndan ötdüyün güzgü sÉ™nÉ™ qÉ™fildÉ™n baÅŸqa ÅŸey, É™zab verÉ™n qÉ™ribÉ™ bir ÅŸey göstÉ™rir.

What made the tape so special for me was this one particular song: track number three, "Never Let Me Go.

The Bungalow 4 counselor was a twenty-year-old college student named Eric who had terrible acne and wrote poems about the local girls who worked in the kitchen and how their breasts looked lonely but also beautiful, like melted ice cream.

Exhaló un suspiro tan profundo y triste».

It was the moment I realized what music can do to people, how it can make you hurt and feel so good all at once.

Prayer gives us relief from the melancholy burden of self-absorption .

From the cab stepped a tall old man. Black raincoat and hat and a battered valise. He paid the driver, then turned and stood motionless, staring at the house. The cab pulled away and rounded the corner of Thirty-sixty Street. Kinderman quickly pulled out to follow. As he turned the corner, he noticed that the tall old man hadn't moved but was standing under the streetlight glow, in mist, like a melancholy traveler frozen in time.

He started his engine and turned on the windshield wipers in time to see a tall old man stepping out of the cab. He paid the driver, then turned and stood motionless under a misty streetlamp's glow, staring up at a window of the house like a melancholy traveler frozen in time. As

And dreamed about death in the staggering particular, death as if death were still never yet heard of while something was ringing, she gasping, dissolving, slipping off into void while thinking over and over, I am not going to be, I will die, I won't be, and forever and ever, oh, Papa, don't let them, oh, don't let them do it, don't let me be nothing forever and melting, unraveling, ringing, the ringing—

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

Fish not, with this melancholy bait,For this fool-gudgeon, this opinion.

The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,Sing all a green willow;Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,Sing willow, willow, willow.

I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth.

I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking.

O! that this too too solid flesh would melt,Thaw and resolve itself into a dew;Or that the Everlasting had not fix'dHis canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitableSeem to me all the uses of this world.

O Hamlet! what a falling-off was there.

Duke: And what's her history?Viola: A blank, my lord. She never told her love,But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought,And with a green and yellow melancholy,She sat like Patience on a monument,Smiling at grief.

O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!

Edgar—[Enter Edgar]and pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy: my cue is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam.

I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad.

I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

The sad companion, dull-ey'd melancholy.