Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night. — Virginia Woolf, Jacob's Room
Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night. — Virginia Woolf, Jacob's Room
Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night. — Virginia Woolf, Jacob's Room
Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night. — Virginia Woolf, Jacob's Room
Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night. — Virginia Woolf, Jacob's Room
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Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night.

— Virginia Woolf, Jacob's Room
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More “Melancholy” Quotes

Cyrano: The leaves---Roxane: What color---Perfect Venetian red! Look at them fall.Cyrano: Yes---they know how to die. A — Edmond Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac
Voi rakkaanisydän on kylmäja sammalta käteni kasvaaMinun reiteni mullassa hajoovat maaksiJa haudalla risti jo lahona on. — Timo K. Mukka
O' melancholy,hectic chill for human soul,herewith dismal presence,any spirit does descent. — Nithin Purple, Halcyon Wings: 'These Passions Feathers Are Gathering on a Winged Vision'
Cut my life into pizzas. this is my plastic fork. oven baking, no breathing, dont give a fuck if its carbs that i'm eati — Catherine Spann
Robots are like Mars: they needgirls. Boys won't do — the memesoup is all wrong. They stompwhen they should kissand they're none too keenon having things shoved inside them...It's not a robotuntil you put a girl inside. Sometimes I feel like that. A junkyard the Company forgot to put a girl in.
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 se — Karen Quan, Write like no one is reading
That which others hear or read of, I felt and practised myself; they get their knowledge by books, I mine by melancholiz — Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy
It’s how I fill the time when nothing’s happening. Thinking too much, flirting with melancholy. — Tim Winton, Breath
Then you must reconcile yourself to the fact that something is always hurt by any change. If you do this, you will not b — Roger Zelazny, Power & Light
He suffered greatly from being shut up among all these people whose stupidity and absurdities wounded him all the more c — Marcel Proust, Swann's Way
To this day when I inhale a light scent of Wrangler—its sweet sharpness—or the stronger, darker scent of Musk, I return — Wheston Chancellor Grove, Who Has Known Heights
I preach that odd defiant melancholy that sees the dreadful loneliness of the human soul and the pitiful disaster of hum — John Derbyshire, Fire from the Sun