Quotes About Melancholy

My life has had a lot of fun moments, but I tend to feel sadness more often.

Happy music doesn't tend to move me much.

The Portuguese and Galician term 'saudade' suggests a profoundly bittersweet nostalgia.

Sharp nostalgia, infinite and terrible, for what I already possess.

Japanese horror films take the business of being frightening seriously. There is no attempt at postmodernism or humour. They are incredibly melancholy, with a strong emotional core, while remaining absolutely terrifying.

In quel momento un'ombra di malinconia le passò sul volto. O ce lo stiamo inventando? Non riusciamo a capire - questo è certo - com'è che questi due esseri non abbiano potuto incontrarsi. Ma il lettore voglia credere, con noi, che un'ombra di malinconia passò davvero per un attimo sul volto di Elsbeth.

I'd like to die listening to a piece of music. I imagine this as so easy, so natural, but naturally it's quite impossible. Notes stab too softly. The wounds they leave behind may smart, but they don't fester. Melancholy and pain trickle out instead of blood. When the notes cease, all is peaceful within me again.

Listening to music, I always have exactly the same feeling: something's missing. Never will I learn the cause of this gentle sadness, never will I wish to investigate it.

This is freedom,' said the instructress, 'it's something very wintry, and cannot be borne for long. One must always keep moving, as we are doing here, one must dance in freedom. It is cold and beautiful. Never fall in love with it. That would only make you sad afterwards, for one can only be in the realm of freedom for a moment, no longer. Look how the wonderful track we are floating on is slowly melting away. Now you can watch freedom dying, if you open your eyes…

The New Yorker has always dealt with experience not by trying to understand it but by prescribing the attitude to be adopted toward it. This makes it possible to feel intelligent without thinking....History may kill you, it is true, but you have taken the right attitude, you will have been intelligent and humane and suitably melancholy to the end.

Sin embargo, Erdosain no se movía de allí… Quería decirles algo, no sabía cómo, pero algo que les diera a comprender a ellos toda la desdicha inmensa que pesaba sobre su vida; y permanecía así, de pie, triste, con el cubo negro de la caja de hierro ante los ojos, sintiendo que a medida que pasaban los minutos su espalda se arqueaba más, mientras que nerviosamente retorcía el ala de su sombrero negro, y la mirada se le hacía más huida y triste.

Porque se decía que si el «millonario melancólico y taciturno» veía que él le miraba el trasero a las criadas, deduciría de ello que no estaba tan preocupado como para merecer su compasión. Tan es así, que Erdosain esperaba que el «millonario melancólico y taciturno» lo mandara llamar de un momento a otro al observar su semblante de músculos endurecidos por el sufrimiento de tantos años.

His words saddened them greatly, though they couldn't say why.

Of course, they didn't give names or dates, they spoke in what might be called abstract terms, but despite the seemingly detached presentation of their misfortunes, the conversation and the walk only sank deeper into a state of melancholy, to such a degree that after two hours they both felt as if they were suffocating.

when I became sad, I was prone to wallow in grief, piling up my woes and sprawling on them like a dragon on a hoard.

You've the saddest song of any man I've ever known." The

The still air smelled of sweetgrass hanging from the rafters. What words can capture that smell? The fragrance of your mother's newly washed hair as she holds you close, the melancholy smell of summer slipping into fall, the smell of memory that makes you close your eyes for a moment, and then a moment longer.

I recognize the classic story elements from my own life. A family legacy of alcoholism. A parent who was a chronic drunk, another parent who was a chronic enabler. Hitting that awkward, anxious phase of high school, not knowing who I was or where I belonged—and consequently tossing back a beer at that party, or stealing a shot of my parents' liquor before boarding the school bus. That magical melting feeling that immediately followed. That sense of almost primal recognition.

What stays with me most is a general sense of loss, unease, and longing for the past that cannot be relieved.

From the second I woke up, I had seen my family in new ways and they had me filled with strange emotions --melancholy, sadness, jealousy, and a sense of injustice about many things that suddenly seemed unfair.

A word I read comes to mind: solastalgia, a miserable tangle of solace, desolation, and nostalgia.

solastalgia, a miserable tangle of solace, desolation, and nostalgia.

Hangovers are a vivid form of vengeance. Last night my apartment became the venue for a small, introverted chardonnay festival. A melancholy choir of Bulgarians provided the entertainment, via a set of headphones that ended up irredeemably tangled beneath the bed. Part of me just watched. The other part was in charge.

He heard people singing. Behind him, across vast distances of space and time, from the place he had left, he thought he heard music too. But perhaps it was only an echo.