The gods are strange. It is not our vices only they make instruments to scourge us. They bring us to ruin through what in us is good, gentle, humane, loving.

My sadness is beautiful. It infuses everything I do. It is at the core of my identity and always has been, just as happiness is in some people. I refuse to be told that it’s a flaw. I will not mute it with medications for the sake of society. I will hold it close to...

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

It is warm, I am alive, I am calm and sad, I hardly know why. In this existence so even, so tranquil, and so gentle as I have here, I am in an element that weakens me morally while strengthening me physically; and I fall into melancholies of honey and roses which are none the...

This was a characteroloical prelude, but it wasn’t chemical or somatic. It was the anatomy of melancholy, not the anatomy of his brain.

I was you’re guardian. But you are old enough to guard yourself. I have other things to protect.

This melancholy London- I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually. One feels them passing like a whiff of air.

I often wish I’d got on better with your father,’ he said.But he never liked anyone who–our friends,’ said Clarissa; and could have bitten her tongue for thus reminding Peter that he had wanted to marry her.Of course I did, thought Peter; it almost broke my heart too, he thought; and was overcome with his...

Such days of autumnal decline hold a strange mystery which adds to the gravity of all our moods.

I close my eyes and listen to the ocean.I’m thinking about sailing, to England or maybe France. The way the wind would feel on my face and the sound of his voice screaming my name through his laughter. The waves would crash like applause. God, I remember when I used to be afraid of the...

Everything tender and melancholy – as life is sometimes, just for one moment.

Melancholy overwhelms me at supersonic speed.

The author says that when an angry impulse is not immediately expressed, it turns to melancholy.

I realised I never wanted to leave her side, and I never wanted her to have to struggle to be released from her sadness. I could never suggest she required release; for she did not require release. It was a true thing, this sadness of hers; a true thing about the world, about life, about...

It is a melancholy truth, that a suppression of the press could not more completely deprive the nation of its benefits than is done by its abandoned prostitution to falsehood

What is my nothingness to the stupor that awaits you?

To keep something, you must take care of it. More, you must understand just what sort of care it requires. You must know the rules and abide by them. She could do that. She had been doing it all the months, in the writing of her letters to him. There had been rules to be...

Melancholy: an appetite no misery satisfies.

So that it must be only by the imagination that Satan has access to the soul, to tempt and delude it, or suggest anything to it. And this seems to be the reason why persons that are under the disease of melancholy are commonly so visibly and remarkably subject to the suggestions and temptations of...

Only a fool will deny that an abundance of flowers can quicken a woman’s blood, and that continuing sun can burn years off a man’s back. The poverty of life here augments the power of those influences. We lose our vision, and move like wooden toys: one year we wash the curtains, the next we...

The hardest part for us was watching them harvest our Shamouti oranges.Those were our favourites, thick skinned, seedless and juicy.When the wind was strong, the scent of their blossoms in the spring and their fruit in the summer still reached us.

My world is a million shattered pieces put together, glued by my tears, where each piece is nothing but a reflection of YOU.

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

Men who read a lot have a more sensitive disposition, added Fowler. […]I did not know what to say to this.Maybe reading is a sort of curse is all I mean, concluded Fowler. Maybe it’s better for a man to stay inside his own mind.Amen, I felt like saying, although I do not know why.

The harmonica has musical wind, and is the breath of soul. It’s like a sad, lonely I love you lost in the breeze.

And you? What brings you here? I shrugged my shoulders. No idea? Hm, you’re still young. Eighteen? I froze. Nineteen? Twenty? Incredible, so young. You have everything before you. No past. He sighed. Incredible, to have been so young once myself. Although what does that mean? There is only one age for anyone. I was...

Itsometimesseemedsopeculiarandwrongtoherthatyoucouldbethatintimatewithsomeone,togotosleepwiththemandwakeupwiththem,todoreallyquiteextraordinarilypersonalthingstogetheronaregularbasis,andthen,suddenly,youdon’tevenknowtheirtelephonenumber,orwherethey’reliving,orworking,orwhattheydidtodayorlastweekorlastyear…That’swhybreak‐upsfeltlikeyourskinwasbeingtornfromyourbody.Itwasactuallystrangethatmore peopleweren’tlikeSaskia,insteadofbeingsowell‐behavedanddignifiedaboutit.

There’s a lot of melancholy in my tracks.

If one is to deal with people on a large scale and say what one thinks, how can one avoid melancholy? I don’t admit to being hopeless, though: only the spectacle is a profoundly strange one; and as the current answers don’t do, one has to grope for a new one, and the process of...

I go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. I take walks. I work until I’m tired. I watch the wind play with the trash that’s been under the snow all winter. Everything seems simple until you think about it. Why is love intensified by abscence?

I only wanted absolute quiet to think out why I had developed a sad attitude toward sadness, a melancholy attitude toward melancholy and a tragic attitude toward tragedy — why I had become identified with the objects of my horror or compassion.

The feeling of Sunday is the same everywhere, heavy, melancholy, standing still. Like when they say, “As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.”

Qué haré ahora con mis labios sin su boca para llenarlos? ,Qué haré de mis adoloridos labios?

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.

That which others hear or read of, I felt and practised myself; they get their knowledge by books, I mine by melancholizing.

There’s little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamt of unhappiness, and waked herself with laughing.

My prayers, my tears, my wishes, fears, and lamentations, were witnessed by myself and heaven alone. When we are harassed by sorrows or anxieties, or long oppressed by any powerful feelings which we must keep to ourselves, for which we can obtain and seek no sympathy from any living creature, and which yet we cannot,...

I began to understand that suffering and disappointments and melancholy are there not to vex us or cheapen us or deprive us of our dignity but to mature and transfigure us.

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

Kristin hatte ihre Wahl an einem grauen Montagmorgen getroffen. Sie war vielleicht aufgewacht, erschöpft von dem neuen Tag, der noch nicht einmal richtig angebrochen war, hatte aus dem Fenster gesehen und sich entschlossen, dass es nun genug sei. Welche Gedanken sie sich gemacht hatte, wusste Harry nicht. Die menschliche Seele war ein tiefer, dunkler Wald,...

But let me now stop; I may be a little partial, and view every thing with the jaundiced eye of melancholy – for I am sad – and have cause.

Melancholy is the happiness of being sad.

Rightly tired of the pain İ hear and feel, boss… where we’s comin from or goin to or why… If İ could end it, İ would. But İ can’t.

I can barely conceive a type of beauty in which there is no melancholy.

The words sounded like a mournful incantation.

Stigmata of LoveA light which lives on what the flames devour,a grey landscape surrounding me with scorch,a crucifixion by a single wound,a sky and earth that darken by each hour,a sob of blood whose red ribbon adornsa lyre without a pulse, and oils the torch,a tide which stuns and strands me on the reef,a scorpion...

I preach that odd defiant melancholy that sees the dreadful loneliness of the human soul and the pitiful disaster of human life as ever redeemable and redeemed by compassion, friendship and love.

I’ll use the blood from my spilling heart to write the words that were never able to slip out of my mouth, so you can see how much you’ve broken me into a perpetual state of melancholy.

Solitude appeared to me as the only fit state of man.

Sweet pulp and sour skin -Or was it sweet outside, and sour within?