Sadness Quotes — page 21

As the moral gloom of the world overpowers all systematic gaiety, even so was their home of wild mirth made desolate amid the sad forest.

Poor Thomson! How melancholy & helpless. I believe in the perfect parallelism & correlation of the physical & psychical. The anomalous mentality, like that of James Thomson, is caused by some hidden defect in his physical machinery. And I …

Having drown'd her sparkling Eyes in tears.

Smiles and tears are so alike with me, they are neither of them confined to any particular feelings: I often cry when I am happy, and smile when I am sad.

The best laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a-gley; And leave us naught but grief and pain For promised joy.

We loved, sir — used to meet: How sad and bad and mad it was — But then, how it was sweet!

When we two parted In silence and tears, Half brokenhearted, To sever for years.

when I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, …

We do too little feel each others' pain; We do relax too much the social chain That binds us to each other; slight the care There is for grief in which we have no share.

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, Are all with thee,—are all with thee!

Perhaps the wind Wails so in winter for the summers dead, And all sad sounds are nature's funeral cries For what has been and is not.

And that dismal cry rose slowly, And sank slowly through the air; Full of spirit's melancholy And eternity's despair! And they heard the words it said,—

The busy bee has no time for sorrow.

The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow.

The world was sad, the garden was a wild, And man the hermit sigh'd — till woman smiled.

One tires of a page of which every sentence sparkles with points, of a sentimentalist who is always pumping the tears from his eyes or your own. One suspects the genuineness of the tear, the naturalness of the humour.

Weep on! and as thy sorrows flow, I 'll taste the luxury of woe.

Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days! Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways: Cuchulain battling with the bitter tide; The Druid, grey, wood-nurtured, quiet-eyed, Who cast round Fergus dreams, and ruin untold;

And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to sleep, A shade that follows wealth or fame, And leaves the wretch to weep?

And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair?

And weep the more, because I weep in vain.

During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country, and at length found …

"God grant indeed thy words are not for nought! Then shalt thou save me, since for many a day To such a dreadful life I have been brought: Nor will I spare with all my heart to pay What man soever takes my grief away; Ah! I will love thee, …

Considering his position he became wonderfully free from the chronic melancholy which is taking hold of the civilized races with the decline of belief in a beneficent Power.