Sadness and Melancholy

Áh! ás the heart grows older

Márgarét, áre you gríeving

Smiling through her tears.

Alas, regardless of their doom,

Meine Ruh’ ist hin,

Adieu tristesse

When lovely woman stoops to folly and

The dead level of provincial existence.

It is a most miserable thing to feel ashamed of home.

I am a lone lorn creetur … and everythink goes contrairy with me.

A duller spectacle this earth of ours has not to show than a rainy Sunday in London.

… Nessun maggior dolore,

I don’t consider myself a pessimist. I think of a pessimist as someone who is waiting for it to rain. And I feel soaked to the skin.

Over increasingly large areas of the United States, spring now comes unheralded by the return of the birds, and the early mornings are strangely silent where once they were filled with the beauty of bird song.

When we two parted

And if I laugh at any mortal thing,

Be not solitary, be not idle.

All my joys to this are folly,

Never glad confident morning again!

How sad and bad and mad it was—

I hurry to laugh at everything, for fear of having to weep at it.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar.

Walk it slow where you go walk it slow… We in the world Poor as dirt Somebody’ll get hurt the world is black the world is green the world is red, yellow, brown the world is mean