A people whose souls are so little tuned to joy.
His blue eyes were seas where sorrow sailed.
We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
O, sorrow! Why dost borrow Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?
red plastic rain her tears stain
The light has gone out of my life.
I'm quite gloomy. I just am one of those people, vaguely lugubrious.
Happiness is a smile of comfort to the sorrowful.
For in every ill-turn of fortune the most unhappy sort of unfortunate man is the one who has been happy
Happiness is a sad song.
To seem sorrowful is not in good taste: You're supposed to seem bored.
Life will always be sorrowful. We can't change it, but we can change our attitude toward it.
It's not a cry you can hear at night. It's not somebody who has seen the light. It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.
Earlier lives drift by on silver soles, and the shadows of the damned descend into these sighing waters.
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan, Sorrow calls no time that 's gone; Violets plucked, the sweetest rain Makes not fresh nor grow again.
It was as if all of the happiness, all of the magic of this blissful hour had flowed together into these stirring, bittersweet tones and flowed away, becoming temporal and transitory once more.
If I have the chance, I would like to write an emotional, sad ballad.
In deep sadness there is no place for sentimentality.
Moping melancholy And moon-struck madness.
A melancholy sound is in the air, A deep sigh in the distance, a shrill wail Around my dwelling. 'Tis the Wind of night.
We till shadowed days are done, We must weep and sing Duty's conscious wrong, The Devil in the clock
Jacian Obregon. It sounds like a melody. Or a tragedy.
Ah, clear they see and true they say That one shall weep, and one shall stray
I wear a lot of black. Like my heart.
I like guitar sounds to be a little somber.
