Quotes About Melancholy

the symptoms of depression, despair or melancholy, and lethargy were considered by the Church the sin of accidia or sloth.

lugubrious" atmosphere.

A man ahead of his time, Oresme suggested that the source of demons and specters could be the disease of melancholy.

Twilight whippoorwill... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness

What do I care if you are good? Be beautiful! and be sad!

It is at once by way of poetry and through poetry, as with music, that the soul glimpses splendors from beyond the tomb; and when an exquisite poem brings one's eyes to the point of tears, those tears are not evidence of an excess of joy, they are witness far more to an exacerbated melancholy, a disposition of the nerves, a nature exiled among imperfect things, which would like to possess, without delay, a paradise revealed on this very same earth.

Dead periods have to be left to take their chances. This goes for the present too, which we should not try to disturb in its melancholy deliquescence.

She said I know what it's like to be dead I know what it is to be sad And she's making me feel like I've never been born

The darker and the sadder the song, the happier it makes me feel. It's just this, ah. I'm in the moment. I'm part of this beautiful world, and it's fantastic, and I don't really know how else to describe it.

I think all of the best songs are about heartbreak and love.

leaning with her back bowed into the back of the chair, her head hanging down and her hands in her lap, very miserable as she would say herself, not even knowing what she would like, except to go out and get very wet, catch a particularly nice cold and have to go to bed and take gruel.

The birds in the trees were singing A song as old as the world, Of love and green leaves and sunshine, And winter folded and furled. They sang that never was sadness But it melted and passed away; They sang that never was darkness But in came the conquering day.

For whom, for what, was that bird singing? No mate, no rival was watching it. What made it sit at the edge of the lonely wood and pour its music into nothingness?

Autumn is a melancholy and graceful andante, that prepares beautifully solemn adagio of winter

Got used to being slightly sad!

She sinks. She sinks in holy sadness. Like an Ophelia in tears she sinks

The widower reviewed his past in a sunless light which was intensified by the greyness of the November twilight, whilst the bells subtly impregnated the surrounding atmosphere with the melody of sounds that faded like the ashes of dead years.

The beauty of sorrow is superior to the beauty of life.

Bruges had the air of a ghost town. The high towers, the trees along the canals withdrew, absorbed by the same muslin: impenetrable fog with not a single rift. Even the carillon seemed to have to escape, to force its way out of a prison yard filled with cotton wool to be free in the air, to reach the gables over which, every quarter of an hour, the bells poured, like falling leaves, a melancholy autumn of music.

A great melancholy was hanging in the air, giving their love a more languid, more tender feeling. It was like the love one feels before a separation, it was like love in a country where there is a war, in a town where epidemics are raging. A strong love, from feeling close to death. Here death reigned, it was as if the town were the Museum of Death. (The Dead Town)

Sapeva solo che quella passeggiata sotto il sole, accompagnata dalla vocetta di sua figlia, era dolce e malinconica al tempo stesso. Si sentiva felice e triste. Ma non a causa di Andrêe né di Nicolas. Non ricordava di averci pensato. Felice e triste come la vita, così avrebbe voluto dire.

I daresay you know how it is when one falls into a fit of the dismals; one says things one doesn't mean.

I'll say no more about that, or I'll be falling into the dismals

Madam Field was not an exhilarating companion, as her mind ran on illness and death, and the froward ways of the younger generation.