Quotes About Melancholy

Je suis le ténébreux, — le veuf, — l'inconsolé, Le prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie : Ma seule étoile est morte, — et mon luth constellé Porte le Soleil noir de la Mélancolie." "I am the Dark One, – the Widower, – the Unconsoled The Aquitaine Prince whose Tower is destroyed: My only star is dead,- and my constellated lute Bears the black Sun of Melancholia.

The scent is sweet and meloncholy. A bit like dying, a bit like falling in love.

It was such a sweet, sad song with such sweet, sad lyrics. Old-fashioned a little, but also timeless.

I think she must have been terribly blue. I think she must have had troubles in her life." "Do you ever get blue?" "Yes, everyone gets blue. But I don't think I could ever get melancholy like that, because I have you.

Your music is the music of death.

The Wedding March has a bit of a death march in it.

This song is sweet. It is sweet. The heart dies of this sweetness.

We no longer have death in our culture: the dead become abstractions, statistics, companies will take charge of the relationship that we can have to our own dead. In 2, 3 days the cremation is done, we can forget, the question is settled and the dead is only a memory. This is problematic, because we risk falling first into what Freud calls melancholy, that is to say the impossibility of mourning because we no longer have an object to mourn.

Some of the greatest blues music is some of the darkest music you've ever heard.

I knew suddenly that I could not endure another week in Venice, not another day of their gentle melancholy, not another hour of fashionable despair.

The Internet of Things has a slight utopian tinge, but mostly it has a certain melancholy, even grim air. It's not some psychedelic exploration of the cyberspace of the digital. It's material labour, it's hardware, it's a hard slog.

There you stand, lost in the infinite series of the sea, with nothing ruffled but the waves. The tranced ship indolently rolls; the drowsy trade winds blow; everything resolves you into languor. For

It is a way I have of driving off the spleen

I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.

Ahab era inaccesible socialmente [...]. Vivía en el mundo como vivieran en el Misuri colonizado los últimos osos grises. Y así como al término del estío aquel Lotario de las selvas se encerraba en el tronco de un árbol a pasar el tiempo chupándose las patas, así Ahab se encerraba, en su inclemente ancianidad, en el tronco hueco de su propio cuerpo, comiéndose las lúgubres patas de su propia melancolía.

Chiamatemi Ismaele. Alcuni anni fa - non importa quanti esattamente - avendo pochi o punti denari in tasca e nulla di particolare che m'interessasse a terra, pensai di darmi alla navigazione e vedere la parte acquea del mondo. E' un modo che ho io di cacciare la malinconia e di regolare la circolazione.

moody stricken Ahab stood before them with a crucifixion in his face; in all the nameless regal overbearing dignity of some mighty woe.

Do I sing? Oh, I'm indifferent enough, sir, for that; but the reason why the grave-digger made music must have been because there was none in his spade, sir.

Podéis captar la expresión de ese cachalote, allí? Es la misma con que murió, sólo que algunas de las más largas arrugas de la frente ahora se diría que se han borrado. Me parece que esta ancha frente está llena de una placidez de dehesa, nacida de una indiferencia filosófica hacia la muerte.

There's no way to stop my singing in this world but to cut my throat. And when that's done, ten to one I sing ye the doxology for a wind-up.

Fasting makes the body cave in; hence the spirit caves in; and all thoughts born of a fast must necessarily be half-starved. This is the reason why most dyspeptic religionists cherish such melancholy notions about their hereafters. In one word, Queequeg; hell is an idea first born on an undigested apple-dumpling; and since then perpetuated through the hereditary dyspepsias nurtured by Ramadans.

palsied as it were, and leaning over sadly. It stood on

Usher—threadbare

at intervals singing what seemed a dismal stave of psalmody, to cheer the hands at the windlass, who roared forth some sort of a chorus about the girls in Booble Alley, with hearty good will.