Quotes About Gloomy

The day is dark and gloomy, unsettled and uncertain, like the condition of our country, in regard to the unnatural war with Mexico

Sometimes, I wake up and the skies are grey and everything's horrible.

I love bleak things.

The Bronx always seemed very dreary to me.

In London, a lot of the time you don't see the sun shine.

It's never sunny in Buffalo.

It was a dark story.

He seemed to hasten the retreat of departing light by his very presence; the setting sun dipped sharply, as though fleeing before our nigger; a black mist emanated from him; a subtle and dismal influence; a something cold and gloomy that floated out and settled on all the faces like a mourning veil. The circle broke up. The joy of laughter died on stiffened lips.

of the earth flowed somber under an overcast sky—seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.

blue and cold as winter stones

a village that was probably depressing in peacetime and now looked about as much fun as Sweden on the first Monday in January.

With more insight into the English character, I poured out a stiff whisky and soda and placed it in front of the gloomy inspector.

The low sky was oppressive, the color of ashes, as it would be for a long time

I'm very pessimistic.

Any rainy summer morning, of course, has the seeds of gloomy alienation sown in. But a rainy summer morning far from home - when your personal clouds don't move but hang - can easily produce the feeling of the world as seen from the grave. This I know.

To man, that was in th' evening made, Stars gave the first delight; Admiring, in the gloomy shade, Those little drops of light.

Many a maiden, With white feet glancing light as air, Made happy music through the gloom.

The color has faded out of the sky. It is grey, becoming darker as the world turns herself round a little more. The clouds are long and black and ragged, like the wings of stormbattered dragons.

The other was short, thin, looking like a talent scout for a cemetery.

The iron bolt...mysteriously fastens the door of hope and holds our spirits in a gloomy prison.

It was a gloomy prospect, and all that she could do was to throw a mist over it, and hope when the mist cleared away, she should see something else.

The iron bolt which so mysteriously fastens the door of hope and holds our spirits in gloomy prison, needs a heavenly hand to push it back.

Gertie frowned. "Why do you always have to be Debbie Downer?" Ida Belle shook her head. "I'm Reality Rita.

What dreadful weather we have! It keeps me in a continual state of inelegance.