Charles Dickens Quotes

I will indulge my sorrows, and give way to all the pangs and fury of despair.

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.

There's definitely sadness happening in this band. I get melancholy every day about things.

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.

It is said that scattered through Despair's domain are a multitude of tiny windows, hanging in the void. Each window looks out onto a different scene, being, in our world, a mirror. Sometimes you will look into a mirror and feel the eyes of Despair upon you, feel her hook catch and snag on your heart.

I’ve lived to bury my desires, And see my dreams corrode with rust; Now all that’s left are fruitless fires That burn my empty heart to dust.

Discomfort guides my tongue And bids me speak of nothing but despair.

I'm so involved in melancholy.

It's a brooding melancholy that haunts me.

One can find so many pains when the rain is falling.

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

I can feel myself dying inside.

Pathetic

Most of life is sad.

There's a strong melancholic streak in me.

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.

in the caves of my heart, where pain taps out its rhythms and sorrow sets its loss, i am without direction.

Acedia is not in every dictionary; just in every heart.

The name of the Slough was Despond.

Now the standard cure for one who is sunk is to consider those in actual destitution or physical suffering—this is an all-weather beatitude for gloom in general and fairly salutary day-time advice for everyone. But at three o’clock in the morning, a forgotten package has the same tragic importance as a death sentence, and the cure doesn’t work—and in a real dark night of the soul it is always three o’clock in the morning, day after day.

Lamentations comfort only by lacerating the heart still more. Such grief does not desire consolation. It feeds on the sense of its hopelessness. Lamentations spring only from the constant craving to re-open the wound.

Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart; My silent heart, lie still and break: Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed For a dream's sake.

...an everlasting funeral marches round your heart.

Now that my ladder's gone, I must lie down where all my ladders start, In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart.

One bitter time of mourning, I remember, When day, and night, my sad heart did complain, My life, I said, was one cold, bleak December, And all its pleasures, were but whited pain.