432 Quotes About Melancholy

As he made his way back to his home on the Dijver, along the canals, beside the calm waters, Borluut felt his regret, his remorse at having divulged his worries grow at the sight of the noble swans, sealed-in snow, which, prisoners of the canals, prey to the rain, the sadness of the bells, the shadow of the gables, have the modesty to remain silent and only complain, with a voice that is almost human, when they are about to die...

There is, following an ample meal, a sort of pause in time, filled with a gentle slackening of thought and energy, when to sit doing nothing gives us a sense of life's richness and a feeling that the least effort would be intolerable. The melancholy we took with us to table has disappeared and, if we think of it at all it is only to smile, as at some black mood now past, its cause having gone. And with the melancholy, all scruple, all remorse departs from us.

It is old...But, do you know, when you have once grasped it clearly, everything becomes so insignificant! I consider my ideas very important, yet they too turn out to be insignificant - and would be, even if it were as possible to carry them out as it was to surround this bear. And so one passes one's life finding distraction in hunting or in work, merely not to think of death.

Veiled melancholy has her sovereign shrine

Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or longBut at my back in a cold blast I hearThe rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear

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.

Holy things and holy places, out of mind under the cauterizing brilliance of the summer son, reared up now as the winter sun struck from the south, casting shadows coldly upon the avenues where the people followed and went in, wearing winter hearts on their sleeves for the plucking.

The body is a museum for memories. I am the Smithsonian.

The sound of the tumblers in the locks of your apartment door puts you in mind of dungeons. The place is haunted. Just this morning you found a makeup brush beside the toilet. Memories lurk like dustballs at the backs of drawers. The stereo is a special model that plays only music fraught with poignant associations.