Quotes About Melancholy

The certain, lonely knowledge [120] that everything is vain but grief.

Cuando ni siquiera me era grata, huyendo del placer, la sonrisa de los astros, el silencio de la aurora o el verdear del prado. Hasta de la gloria callaba amor ahora, y si en otro tiempo me inflamaba tanto, hoy sólo de la belleza era morada.

Ogni tanto ti capita ancora, di pensare a quelle che potrebbero essere buone idee per dei racconti, o per dei romanzi. Ma passano via quasi subito, senza nemmeno che ti ponga più il problema di annotarle – e infatti non porti più il taccuino, da tanto tempo. Vanno via leggere, queste idee; senza più dolore, senza nemmeno tristezza. Giusto un'ombra di malinconia.

When he finished, summing up the meaning of what he had played in two conclusive, melancholy scales, there was a burst of friendly applause. And I also applauded and kept doing so until I was sure he had seen me, because I was starting to realize that there are such things as misunderstandings and I didn't want there to be any at that moment.

Sing on, as if in pain; And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, And haply may forget.

Le cadeva addosso una malinconia dolce come una carezza lieve, che le stringeva il cuore a volte, un desiderio vago di cose ignote.

Tonight A parapet of breeze tonight on which to lean my melancholy

Now that being on the road was my choice, not my fate, I lost the melancholy feeling of 'everybody has a home but me'. I could leave—because I could return. I could return—because I knew adventure lay just beyond an open door. Instead of 'either/or', I discovered a whole world of 'and'.

The days may not be so bright and balmy—yet the quiet and melancholy that linger around them is fraught with glory. Over everything connected with autumn there lingers some golden spell—some unseen influence that penetrates the soul with its mysterious power.

The rich death-colours of autumn were like an infinitely sad melody, like a sad song of unavailing regret; but in those passionate tints, in the red and the gold of the apples, in the varied hue of the fallen leaves, there was still something which forbade one to forget that in the death and decay of nature there is always the beginning of other life.

Around and around the house the leaves fall thick—but never fast, for they come circling down with a dead lightness that is sombre and slow. Let the gardener sweep and sweep the turf as he will, and press the leaves into full barrows, and wheel them off, still they lie ankle-deep.

Kenneth Tynan: What is your major vice? Orson Welles: Accidia — the medieval Latin word for melancholy, and sloth. I don't give way to it for long, but it still comes lurching at me out of the shadows.

The spring breathes in the breezes, The woods with wood-notes ring, And all the budding hedgerows Are fragrant of the spring. In secret, silent places The live green things upstart; Ice-bound, ice-crown'd dwells winter For ever in my heart.

He saw no beauty in the sunshine sifting down through the green leaves, nor did the azure vault of the sky whisper as of old and hint of cosmic vastness and secrets trembling to disclosure. Life was intolerably dull and stupid, and its taste was bad in his mouth.

And there was another melancholy - different yet somehow similar - which came to Gersen as he watched the debonair folk about him. They were all graceful and easy, untouched by the toil and pain and terror that existed on remote worlds. Gersen envied them their detachment, their social skills. Still, would he change places with any of them? Hardly.

Like Earth, Navarth was old, irresponsible and melancholy, full of a dangerous mirth.

I took a slice of melon and perched on the edge of a couch, watching them both, patently uncomfortable with the undefined nature of my role here.

Children, Maisie believed, could often only see their world in black and white, never shades of gray—which meant the hard-found forgiveness that provides respite from the dark melancholy of blame might never lift from the soul of a wounded child.

one day I'll weep for this. One of these days I'll start to cry.

the sorrow of the disconnected.

I remember the winter sun was shining and I felt cold and distant as the sun.

Melancholy, indeed, should be diverted by every means but drinking.

It is better, however, for his own reputation that the story-teller should risk a few actions for libel on account of these unfortunate coincidences than that he should adopt the melancholy device of using blanks or asterisks.

Wise men mingle mirth with their cares, as a help either to forget or overcome them; but to resort to intoxication for the ease of one's mind is to cure melancholy by madness.