Best 381 quotes in «melancholy quotes» category

Well, here I am, just come home; a fellow gone to the bad; though I had the best intentions in the world at one time. Now I am melancholy mad, what with drinking and one thing and another.

We [of Thelema] are whole-hearted extroverts; the penalty of restricting oneself is anything from neurosis to down right lunacy; in particular, melancholia.

We're just two lost souls Swimming in a fish bowl, Year after year, Running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here.

What came first _ the music or the misery? Did I listen to music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to music?

What broke your heart so bad That you had to close every door, That you say you have a dark soul And can't utter the word 'love' anymore?

What if you are just destined to get hurt, to be helplessly stuck in a point of time you no longer want to be? Maybe life is all about trying to get up while you fall a little bit deeper in the pits of hell, each time you try not to...

What if you wake up one fine morning only to realize that the life you have been living since the last few days was nothing but a dream of yours? Would you go back to sleep then? I wake up each morning only to realize you're not by my side. And if this emptiness is nothing but a nightmare, let me wake up and go back to the time we were together...

When I was young and filled with folly, I fell in love with melancholy

What was wrong with you?" "Melancholy. Nothing more or less than that. I have suffered it often. Not because I do not like the court, but because... well, I do not know why. It is just one of those things... This time was particularly bad, though. It was so strong it was like a physical illness. But the doctors said it was melancholy, just melancholy, and that time away would it. 'A fragile disposition,' they called me.... As though one needs to be fragile to be sad.

When exactly did I give myself over to sleep? When did I stop resisting...? I used to be so lively, I was always wide awake — but when was that?

When I go musing all alone Thinking of divers things fore-known. When I build castles in the air, Void of sorrow and void of fear, Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet, Methinks the time runs very fleet. All my joys to this are folly, Naught so sweet as melancholy. When I lie waking all alone, Recounting what I have ill done, My thoughts on me then tyrannise, Fear and sorrow me surprise, Whether I tarry still or go, Methinks the time moves very slow. All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so mad as melancholy. When to myself I act and smile, With pleasing thoughts the time beguile, By a brook side or wood so green, Unheard, unsought for, or unseen, A thousand pleasures do me bless, And crown my soul with happiness. All my joys besides are folly, None so sweet as melancholy. When I lie, sit, or walk alone, I sigh, I grieve, making great moan, In a dark grove, or irksome den, With discontents and Furies then, A thousand miseries at once Mine heavy heart and soul ensconce, All my griefs to this are jolly, None so sour as melancholy. Methinks I hear, methinks I see, Sweet music, wondrous melody, Towns, palaces, and cities fine; Here now, then there; the world is mine, Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine, Whate'er is lovely or divine. All other joys to this are folly, None so sweet as melancholy. Methinks I hear, methinks I see Ghosts, goblins, fiends; my phantasy Presents a thousand ugly shapes, Headless bears, black men, and apes, Doleful outcries, and fearful sights, My sad and dismal soul affrights. All my griefs to this are jolly, None so damn'd as melancholy. Methinks I court, methinks I kiss, Methinks I now embrace my mistress. O blessed days, O sweet content, In Paradise my time is spent. Such thoughts may still my fancy move, So may I ever be in love. All my joys to this are folly, Naught so sweet as melancholy. When I recount love's many frights, My sighs and tears, my waking nights, My jealous fits; O mine hard fate I now repent, but 'tis too late. No torment is so bad as love, So bitter to my soul can prove. All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions get you gone, 'Tis my desire to be alone; Ne'er well but when my thoughts and I Do domineer in privacy. No Gem, no treasure like to this, 'Tis my delight, my crown, my bliss. All my joys to this are folly, Naught so sweet as melancholy. 'Tis my sole plague to be alone, I am a beast, a monster grown, I will no light nor company, I find it now my misery. The scene is turn'd, my joys are gone, Fear, discontent, and sorrows come. All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so fierce as melancholy. I'll not change life with any king, I ravisht am: can the world bring More joy, than still to laugh and smile, In pleasant toys time to beguile? Do not, O do not trouble me, So sweet content I feel and see. All my joys to this are folly, None so divine as melancholy. I'll change my state with any wretch, Thou canst from gaol or dunghill fetch; My pain's past cure, another hell, I may not in this torment dwell! Now desperate I hate my life, Lend me a halter or a knife; All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so damn'd as melancholy.

When I say to the moment flying...linger a while-thou art so fair" - Faust

What went wrong? That is the question, and not "To be or not to be," for all of Shakespeare.

When the rain is on my lips And I shiver from the cold Thinking about life Its ups and downs And being a melancholic I take a note Of the nature's crying its tears Making the day seem gray And unexcited But how much life the rain brings To what is hidden beneath the surface So whenever I cry And the cold of people's words Or actions Causing me shiver I vision myself standing in the rain Bringing my roots to life I am not afraid anymore Of getting soaking wet I stand my ground! But please nature Don't let me drown, make me beautiful!

When the netted fence of spiderwebs that darkens my ruined house can hold the wind in its strands- that's when these troubled thoughts will blow away. . . .

When sadness knows the reason of tears, heart prepares to carry the ache for years

When you get abandoned by someone, that's the moment when you've truly lost faith in them.

Why is Melancholy like Honey? Because it is very sweet, and it is culled from Flowers.

Where is the happiness, the sunshine, where are those thick skittles of wood which crashed and bounced so nicely, where is my bicycle with the low handlebars and the big gear? It seems there's a law which says that nothing ever vanishes, that matter is indestructible; therefore the chips from my skittles and the spokes of my bicycle still exist somewhere to this day. The pity of it is that I'll never find them again - never.

Why should I care if the tides rise again if I am only a corpse riding the waves?

Wish in one hand, shit in the other, see which one fills up faster.

Yes, melancholy steeps Davidson's language, and melancholy differs from grief in its chronic nature: it is an ache not a wound, it lies deeper down, is longer lasting, is lived with rather than died of.

Writing is a defence against boredom, but it's also a cure for melancholy.

Years have passed, I suppose. I'm not really counting them anymore. But I think of this thing often: Perhaps there is a Golden Age someplace, a Renaissance for me sometime, a special time somewhere, somewhere but a ticket, a visa, a diary-page away. I don't know where or when. Who does? Where are all the rains of yesterday? In the invisible city? Inside me? It is cold and quiet outside and the horizon is infinity. There is no sense of movement. There is no moon, and the stars are very bright, like broken diamonds, all.

A melancholy lesson of advancing years is the realisation that you can't make old friends.

You’re going back?” asked Bod. Things that had been immutable were changing. “You’re really leaving? But. You’re my guardian.” “I was you’re guardian. But you are old enough to guard yourself. I have other things to protect.

Affection, like melancholy, magnifies trifles.

You hung around the tattered edges of my soul, that's where you preferred to be...

You're back where you swore yourself you wouldn't be The familiar shackles you can't tell from your own skin Your head's under water when you learned to swim On a road to hell, congratulations, you're free...

All perfection is melancholy.

A tendancy to melancholy...let it be observed, is a misfortune, not a fault.

As a bit of loner, prone to melancholy, with a questionable sexuality, I found great solace in the words of-Dylan, Joni, John Prine and Leonard Cohen. The darker the better.

As a human being Plato mingles regal, exclusive, and self-contained features with melancholy compassion.

A noble craft, but somehow a most melancholy! All noble things are touched with that.

As a remedy against all ills - poverty, sickness, and melancholy - only one thing is absolutely necessary: a liking for work

But it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in the most humorous sadness.

Books afford the surest relief in the most melancholy moments.

But my favorite part in my body are my dark circles. They define me. They reveal my melancholy.

For a long time I had not approached the forbidden fruit called happiness, but it was now tempting me with a melancholy persistence. I felt as though Sonoko were an abyss above which I stood poised.

Fame is but an inscription on a grave, and glory the melancholy blazon on a coffin lid.

Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief

Cities produce in me melancholy or a tension I don't need.

Espousing the melancholy of ancient symbols, I would have freed myself.

For many years I was the youngest among my mathematical friends. It makes me melancholy to realize that I now have become the oldest in most groups of scientists.

For me, the melancholy of the late XXth Century is walking late at night by the Mont Blanc pen store and seeing these things always strike me as simulacra of luxury items. They seem like fakes.

I find beauty in melancholy.

For me work is an absolute necessity, indeed I can't really drag it out, I take no more pleasure in anything than in work, that's to say, pleasure in other things stops immediately and I become melancholy if I can't get on with the work.

I could not conjure up one melancholy fancy upon a mutton chop and a glass of champagne.

I am a melancholy type of person.

I found him well educated, with unusual powers of mind, but infected with misanthropy, and subject to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy.