Quotes About Melancholy

Only the lonely know the way I feel tonight.

Bajo el cielo, resignadas, reposan las aguas melancólicas. Las torres y las sombras se confunden de tal modo que todo parece suspendido en el aire, mientras que desde una torre orgullosa, la Muerte como un espectro gigante, contempla la ciudad que yace a sus pies.

Lejano clavicordio que en silencio y olvido no diste nunca al sueño la sublime sonata

Ese es mi mal. Soñar. La poesía Es la camisa férrea de mil puntas cruentas Que llevo sobre el alma. Las espinas sangrientas Dejan caer las gotas de mi melancolía.

La princesa está triste, ¿qué tendrá la princesa? Los suspiros se escapan de su boca de fresa

They say that the Dead die not, but remain Near to the rich heirs of their grief and mirth. I think they ride the calm mid-heaven, as these, In wise majestic melancholy train, And watch the moon, and the still-raging seas, And men, coming and going on the earth.

That sad word love,' she said, and became pensive and silent.

him, but of course they wouldn't allow that. She became very melancholic, and started living all by herself in the old palace. They give her everything she needs, but she doesn't go out or have visitors. Everyone says she's mad.' 'How do they know?' I asked. 'Because she's different from other people, I suppose.' 'Is that being mad?

I don't want logic right now. I just want to wallow in misery.

The night speaks volumes to those who understand melancholy fluently.

?çimizde ?eytan var... Can k?r?klar? var. Nefret var, yalanlar var... Bir yan?m?z bizi çoktan terk etmi?, kaç?yor... Melankoli ve hüsran var...

Zaman zaman beni saran hüzünlerin, hayat b?kk?nl???n?n bir ruhi hastal?k alameti olmas?ndan korkard?m. Bir kitab? okurken geçen iki saatin ömrümün birçok senelerinden daha dolu, ehemmiyetli oldu?unu fark edince insan hayat?n?n ürkütücü hiçli?ini dü?ünür ve yeis içinde kal?rd?m.

?çimde yar?m kalm?? bir konu?man?n üzüntüsü vard?

The sky is turning from black to gray and I stop to remember this melancholy moment for my acting. I huddle on a bench in my big thrift-store overcoat and my painful hair, watching my breath make clouds and thinking Holden Caulfield-y thoughts, like how come you never see any baby pigeons? This is what those people on black-and-white French postcards must feel like. I find myself craving a cup of coffee and a cigarette despite the fact that I neither drink coffee nor smoke.

This afternoon held that special quality of mournful emptiness I've connected with late Sunday afternoons ever since childhood: the feeling of having nothing to do.

February, month of despair, with a skewered heart in the centre.

Like a White Russian drinking tea in Paris, marooned in the twentieth century, I wander back, try to regain hose distant pathways; I become too maudlin, lose myself. Weep...I sit in the chair and ooze like a sponge.

I can listen to my own heartbeat against the bedsprings, I can stroke myself, under the dry white sheets, in the dark, but I too am dry and white, hard, granular; it's like running my hand over a plateful of dried rice; it's like snow. There's something dead about it, something deserted. I am like a room where things once happened and now nothing does, except the pollen of the weeds that grow up outside the window, blowing in as dust across the floor.   Here

There was always an element of melancholy involved in sex. After his indiscriminate adolescence he'd preferred sad women, delicate and breakable, women who'd been messed up and who needed him.

Everyone's too sad for everything.

Occasionally I do cry for no reason, as it says you are supposed to. But I can't believe in my own sadness, I can't take it seriously. I watch myself crying in the mirror, intrigued by the sight of tears.

Oh, Scarlett, you are so young you wring my heart.

There's a whole kind of melancholy that you can only attain with reverb. That's an example of a technology introducing a whole new meaning.

No matter the time, carried away the wind is Better your absence Thy indifference.