#melancholy

Pain seems to be easier, or melancholy seems to be easier to portray in a character. I don't know if that's because I'm a human being or because I'm an Irishman or both. ↗

— Colin Farrell

#being #both #character #easier #human

Saturn seems to have impressed the seal of melancholy on me from the beginning. ↗

— Marsilio Ficino

#impressed #me #melancholy #saturn #seal

I have often thought what a melancholy world this would be without children, and what an inhuman world without the aged. ↗

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge

#children #human world #i #inhuman #melancholy

Youth, however, can afford to enjoy even its melancholy; for the ultimate fact of which that melancholy is a prophecy is a long way off. ↗

— Richard Le Gallienne

#enjoy #even #fact #however #long

I won’t compare myself to Van Gogh or Amy Winehouse, but in my own personal experience, the quality of my writing is in direct correlation with the depth of my suffering. When I’m happy or cheerful or content in life, I’m seldom inspired to write anything. That’s when the good stuff comes out – when I’m feeling empty and worthless and eternally heartbroken. That’s when the fears and insecurities come flying through my fingertips like lightning bolts and strike the keys on this laptop and a small bit of magic occurs. I’m able to somewhat articulate my feelings – and even if it’s only for me, even if no one ever reads them – they’re no longer bottled up. It’s cheaper than a shrink, that’s for sure. ↗

— Adam Frazier

#melancholy #van-gogh #experience

A lot of people say I wouldn't have a down day, but you look at the music and there's real melancholy. ↗

— Stephan Jenkins

#down #i #look #lot #melancholy

Do not make best friends with a melancholy sad soul. They always are heavily loaded, and you must bear half. ↗

— Francois Fenelon

#bear #best #friends #half #heavily

I'm not writing just about melancholy stuff anymore, I made a point to cover a wide range of emotions. ↗

— Chantal Kreviazuk

#anymore #cover #emotions #i #just

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. ↗

— William Butler Yeats

#compelled #feels #i #imagine #like

The eye turned to the fire gave back no light and he closed it with his thumb and sat by her and put his hand upon her bloodied forehead and closed his own eyes that he could see her running in the mountains, running in the starlight where the grass was wet and the sun's coming as yet had not undone the rich matrix of creatures passed in the night before her. Deer and hare and dove and groundvole all richly empaneled on the air for her delight, all nations of the possible world ordained by God of which she was one among and not separate from. Where she ran the cries of the coyotes clapped shut as if a door had closed upon them and all was fear and marvel. He took up her stiff head out of the leaves and held it or he reached to hold what cannot be held, what already ran among the mountains at once terrible and of great beauty, like flowers that feed on flesh. What blood and bone are made of but can themselves not make on any altar nor by any wound of war. What we may well believe has power to cut and shape and hollow out the dark form of the world surely if wind can, if rain can. But which cannot be held never be held and is no flower but is swift and a huntress and the wind itself is in terror of it and the world cannot lose it. ↗

— Cormac McCarthy

#earth-shattering #melancholy #beauty