Best 381 quotes in «melancholy quotes» category

Panic in Wall Street, brokers feeling melancholy.

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, Or by the lazy Scheld or wandering Po.

Religion is not a melancholy, the spirit of God is not a damper.

The cat makes himself the companion of your hours of solitude, melancholy and toil.

Sorrow was made for man, not for beasts; yet if men encourage melancholy too much, they become no better than beasts.

The more melancholy side of my literary personality is much in tune with BS Johnson's.

There is not a string attuned to mirth but has its chord of melancholy.

There's a lot of melancholy in my tracks.

There was only the cemetery itself, spread out in the moonlight like a soft grey hallucination, a stony wilderness of Victorian melancholy.

There were moments of despondency when Shakespeare thought himself no poet, and Raphael no painter; when the greatest wits have doubted the excellence of their happiest efforts.

The whole house seemed to exhale a melancholy breath of emptiness

To the seeker after the new, or the sensational, to those who expect a sinister frisson from modern music, it is my melancholy duty to point out that all the bomb throwing and guillotining has already taken place.

When you find yourself overpowered, as it were, by melancholy, the best way is to go out and do something.

You will be melancholy, if you are solitary.

After much effort to live up to a glorious standard there came fatigue, wan hope, and boredom. I experienced extreme boredom. I saw others experiencing it too, many denying, by the way, that any such thing existed. And finally I decided that I would make boredom my subject matter. That I'd study it. That I'd become the world's leading authority on it. March, that was a red-letter day for humanity. What a field! What a domain! Titanic! Promethean! I trembled before it. I was inspired. I couldn't sleep. Ideas came in the night and I wrote them down, volumes of them. Strange that no one had gone after this systematically. Oh, melancholy, yes, but not modern boredom.

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")

A hand-rolled cigarette to smoke, Another one bought from the store. If he lights one, his mind's lit up Another one burns a hole..

Ah God! to see the branches stir Across the moon at Grantchester! To smell the thrilling-sweet and rotten Unforgettable, unforgotten River-smell, and hear the breeze Sobbing in the little trees. Say, do the elm-clumps greatly stand Still guardians of that holy land? The chestnuts shade, in reverend dream, The yet unacademic stream Is dawn a secret shy and cold Anadyomene, silver-gold? And sunset still a golden sea From Haslingfield to Madingley? And after, ere the night is born, Do hares come out about the corn? Oh, is the water sweet and cool, Gentle and brown, above the pool? And laughs the immortal river still Under the mill, under the mill? Say, is there Beauty yet to find? And Certainty? and Quiet kind? Deep meadows yet, for to forget The lies, and truths, and pain?… oh! yet Stands the Church clock at ten to three? And is there honey still for tea?

All night dark wings flap in my heart, Each an ambition bird that wants to be dropped.

A mist is rolling over the fields. Why is a summer mist romantic and autumn mist just sad?

And, at such a time, for a few of us there will always be a tugging at the heart—knowing a precious moment had gone and we not there.

And truths, these days, are spoken The same way promises are made, With gritted teeth and crossed fingers.

And what the music elicits—in me, in most everyone who hears it and takes to it—is a strangely comforting, sensual melancholy, a gentle sadness, the kind that comes with soft rain. It’s the same for all truly great dark art. There’s a pleasure in seeing our shadows paraded beautifully. It’s liberating to find them so prettily decked out, a sort of reverse Halloween.

Did you know that ninety percent of your average household dust is composed of human epidermal matter? That's skin, to you." Perhaps this explains your sense of Amanda's omnipresence. She has left her skin behind.

Doesn’t it make you melancholy—looking at the stars?

Dogs were generally incompatible with melancholy.

En als de vliegers weg zijn dan is het droefste in uw leven dat ge zooveel menschen hebt gekend, en dat ge die nooit meer zult horen of zien.

...encontré una tacita de porcelana que se había caído de un poste. Recordé que cuando eramos chicos las rompíamos con la honda y eso me dio un poco de tristeza. Sin saber por qué me la guardé en el bolsillo y la fui acariciando con los dedos mientras pensaba en los tiempos del colegio, cuando creía que tenía una vida por delante.

(Episode 9. Hijikata finds Gintoki on a rooftop and challenges him to a duel to avenge Kondo's defeat earlier. Gintoki doesn't want to fight him, so breaks Hijikata's sword easily, and leaves. It's then revealed that Okita and Kondo had been watching them clash, from another rooftop.) Okita Sougou: "He's an interesting man. I'd like to cross swords with him, myself." Kondo: "Don't bother. He'll kick your ass, Sougou." "He's the kind of guy fighting another battle far away, even as a sword swings at his throat." "Fair or unfair, it doesn't matter to him." (Not knowing that Kondo & Okita were watching his duel from a high vantage point, Hijikata lights a cigarette and sits back.) Hijikata (watching the blue sky above him): "Sorry, Kondo-san. I lost to him, as well ...

En un mundo sin melancolía, los ruiseñores se pondrían a eructar.

Es sind tausend Tropfen in einer Welt nur für uns gemacht Tausend Tropfen wenn der Himmel weint und man dennoch lacht

Era un pustiu în mine, fără sfârșit; șuiera vântul, ardea soarele Saharei în mine, mă acoperea nisipul. Era urât și rău în mine, aș fi preferat să mor de o mie de ori ca să nu mai simt pustiul acela.

Et jamais je n’ai senti, si avant, à la fois mon détachement de moi-même et ma présence au monde

Es war mir unmöglich, die wahre Bedeutung dieser Melancholie zu begreifen, die seine Persönlichkeit prägte und deren Schattenspiel mich faszinierte.

Even the most comic moment contains an element of melancholy; even the deepest tragedy harbors a trace of the ironic.

Even when it seems that there is no one else, always remember there's one person who never ceased to love you - yourself.

Every day it will be the same thing: at dusk I begin to feel melancholy and pensive.

For certain, neither of them sees a happy Present, as the gate opens and closes, and one goes in, and the other goes away.

For me not to be insane , I had to be either sedated by my “ happy pill” or be activated by my hyper work mode. These were the only two responses my mind was known to react. Everything in between was a mundane distraction. A numb bliss , that annihilated everything rational that ever existed in my universe.

For me not to be insane , I had to be either sedated by my “ happy pill” or be activated by my hyper work mode. These were the only two responses my mind was known to react. Everything in between was a mundane distraction. A numb bliss , that annihilated everything rational that ever existed my universe.

For the philosopher is right who says that nothing is thicker than a knife's blade separates happiness from melancholy

For the philosopher is right who says that nothing thicker than a knife's blade separates happiness from melancholy

Golden brown syrup light pranced upon his melancholy face. The flickering was somewhat surreal.

Had it been possible for me to fix the plane permanently in the sky, to defy the winds and clouds and all the forces pushing it upward and pulling it earthward, I would have willingly done so. I would have stayed in my seat with my eyes closed, all strength and passion gone, my mind as quiescent as a coat rack under a forgotten hat, and I would have remained there, timeless, unmeasured, unjudged, bothering no one, suspended forever between my past and my future.

Hands that never touch. Lips that never meet. The Almost Lovers, never to be.

He glanced back at his ship, and a sigh escaped his lips, his heart fraught with the appreciation and melancholy that understanding his own situation must evince. His place as Captain of such a crew was as evanescent as the rest of life, and while they were all collected together now, being of the same character, the same mind, having the same predilections and ambitions, there was no saying when it might be over. He might be called away on urgent business, or his crew might grow anxious for a more settled life, Rannig might wish to return home, or the Director of the Marridon Academy might finally rot, calling Bartleby back to Marridon for the promotion he so richly deserved. He exhaled, reveling in the pining sigh of impermanence which living in such uncertainty must produce.

He had done nothing on Christmas day, just wandered around outside in the frozen woods. Hard ground, chill winds and bare branches that looked like they'd been dipped in sugar. None of it seemed real, like walking around in a desolate dream, but one he didn't want to wake up from.

He missed two people: a) the girl she was; b) the person she’d made him feel he might have been. A deep sigh escaped him.

He really had experienced every tiniest increment of time in the four decades since then, and yet here he was surprised to be suddenly old and crippled. Turned out the rope didn't care if you noticed every daisy on the path to the gallows.

Her love was like lavender, delicate and melancholy.