Gloom Quotes

The Undertaker

There is a wide, yawning black infinity. In every direction, the extension is endless; the sensation of depth is overwhelming. And the darkness is immortal. Where light exists, it is pure, blazing, fierce; but light exists almost nowhere, and the blackness itself is also pure and blazing and fierce.

Waste brings woe, and sorrow hates despair.

A people whose souls are so little tuned to joy.

It feels really sad, to me, to go to a dark bedroom. It's like surrendering to the night or something.

Despair snuffs the sun from the firmament.

The Truth, when you finally chase it down, is almost always far worse than your darkest visions and fears.

I steer my bark with hope in the head, leaving fear astern. My hopes indeed sometimes fail, but not oftener than the forebodings of the gloomy.

Hell is a half-filled auditorium.

Misery no longer loves company. Nowadays it insists on it.

Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.

I'm a pessimist.

Those who have no hope pass their old age shrouded with an inward gloom.

Nobody gets excited about the future at all, ever. The future is something we find depressing and worrisome.

Melancholy and sadness are the start of doubt... doubt is the beginning of despair; despair is the cruel beginning of the differing degrees of wickedness.

Most of life is sad.

If you want to be depressed every day, there's plenty of material. The world is crazy.

Every night when I go to bed, I hope that I may never wake again, and every morning renews my grief.

Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven.

For this is the truth about our soul, he thought, who fish-like inhabits deep seas and plies among obscurities threading her way between the boles of giant weeds, over sun-flickered spaces and on and on into gloom, cold, deep, inscrutable; suddenly she shoots to the surface and sports on the wind-wrinkled waves; that is, has a positive need to brush, scrape, kindle herself, gossiping.

I'm so involved in melancholy.

There are so many reasons to be sad in the club.

I like dark, hopeless, beautiful tragedies.

I'm quite gloomy. I just am one of those people, vaguely lugubrious.

I am now the most miserable man living. If what I feel equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be one cheerful face on the earth. Whether I shall ever be better, I cannot tell; I awfully forebode I shall not. To remain as I am is impossible. I must die or be better, it appears to me.