Roald Dahl Quotes

So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds, And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.

Every human walks around with a certain kind of sadness. They may not wear it on their sleeves, but it's there if you look deep.

Everybody's wearing a disguise, to hide what they've got left behind their eyes.

I had sadness for breakfast.

Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.

Beauty, more than bitterness, makes the heart break.

I've always been full of nervous energy, but I'm not really as happy as I seem.

I don't know if I'm a tortured soul, but I was born heartbroken. I remember feeling it when I was so young. I was like, 'Mum, it hurts.'

It's raining my soul, it's raining, but it's raining dead eyes.

My life is actually empty, so I feel like I'm lying to everyone by pretending to be happy on the outside.

As a boy and even now, I am wont to melancholy. I do, probably once a day, experience a sincere heartbreak.

If a documentary crew were to follow me around, they'd probably think they were making a film about the saddest person in the world.

The sweetest smiles hold the darkest secrets.

Alone, he must bear the weight of a sin he dare not confess to the one person he loves…and has lost.

The thirst for something other than what we have…to bring something new, even if it is worse, some emotion, some sorrow; when our sensibility, which happiness has silenced like an idle harp, wants to resonate under some hand, even a rough one, and even if it might be broken by it.

In the lives of the saddest of us, there are bright days like this, when we feel as if we could take the great world in our arms and kiss it. Then come the gloomy hours, when the fire will neither burn on our hearths nor in our hearts; and all without and within is dismal, cold, and dark. Believe me, every heart has its secret sorrows, which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad.

Sorrow and frustration have their power. The world is moved by people with great discontents. Happiness is a drug. It can make men blind and deaf and insensible to reality. There are times when only sorrow can give to sorrow.

Melancholy: an appetite no misery satisfies.

Life is a well of joy; but for those out of whom an upset stomach speaks, which is the father of melancholy, all wells are poisoned.

My tears are buried in my heart, like cave-locked fountains sleeping.

Lamentation is the only musician that always, like a screech-owl, alights and sits on the roof of any angry man.

I wonder now whether inner coldness and desolation may not be the pre-condition for making the world believe, by a kind of fraudulent showmanship, that one's own wretched heart is still aglow.

Happiness is a bull's-eye, awaiting arrows of pain.

Unhappiness is selfish, grief is selfish. For whom are the tears?

It’s when you hide things that you choke on them.