Melancholy Quotes - Page 2

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.

It’s how I fill the time when nothing’s happening. Thinking too much, flirting with melancholy.

Then you must reconcile yourself to the fact that something is always hurt by any change. If you do this, you will not be hurt yourself.

So few things we need to know.
And the old wisdoms shudder in us and grow slack.
Like renunciation. Like the melancholy beauty
of giving it all up. Like walking steadfast
in the rhythms, winter light and summer dark.
And the time for cutting furrows and the dance

Spanish rain,
A maiden’s dress,
Apothecary pills
And ancient thrills;
Melancholy kills
A girl’s caress.

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.

There was this constant urge in me to tear my insides apart,
I didn't know why. By the time I made my mind that it was impossible for me
to do, there alighted the fear, haunting me with the words that rang
constantly in my head, "You're not brave enough".



I didn't feel devastated, I felt the urge to be devastated.

At that moment, beauty itself struck me as a kind of painful melancholy.

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

Sé que mañana despertaré, Gryal, y lo haré tan vacía y triste como un río sin lluvia. Dime, amado, ¿quién será mi lluvia? ¿Quién mojará mi cuerpo cuando me faltes? Vuelve, amor, vuelve sano y salvo, porque si no yo no tendré primavera...

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

What they have been teaching us is wrong. Yes, we do have control over our choices. Why? Because life gave us the freedom to choose. The only downside to this freedom are the insatiable consequences we shall have to face because of the choices we learned to embrace.

I thought I would marry my boyfriend and grow old and sick of him. I thought I would keep my friends, and we'd make different, new memories. None of that happened. Better things happened. Then why am I so sad?

Melancholy is an escape not from reality, but unreality of the world.

Because memories fall apart, too.
And then you're left with nothing, left not even with a ghost but with its shadow. In the beginning she haunted me, haunted my dreams, but even now, just weeks later, she was slipping away, falling apart in my memory and everyone else's, dying again.

I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.

Some pain has no relief,it can only be sealed
You can grasp the wound to feel the scar unhealed.

Only tears can hear the sound of pain
when warm blood reddens discolored stain

I'd like to die listening to a piece of music. I imagine this as so easy, so natural, but naturally it's quite impossible. Notes stab too softly. The wounds they leave behind may smart, but they don't fester. Melancholy and pain trickle out instead of blood. When the notes cease, all is peaceful within me again.

Nothing you did made sense
and nothing you’ll ever do.