Samuel Rutherford Quotes

My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief, Are mine alone!

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.

That sun, that light had faded, and she had faded with them. Now she was as grey as the season itself.

Once there had been joy, but now there was only sadness, and it was not, he knew, alone the sadness of an empty house; it was the sadness of all else, the sadness of the Earth, the sadness of the failures and the empty triumphs.

I did not know what it was to be happy for a whole day at a time, scarcely for an hour.

There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.

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.'

Most of life is sad.

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

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

I'm here to be lovesick, broke and drifting, writing heartache songs and singing about pain and misery and depression, with a few good times here and there.

She was no longer that happy creature who in earlier youth wandered with me on the banks of the lake and talked with ecstasy of our future prospects. The first of those sorrows which are sent to wean us from the earth had visited her, and its dimming influence quenched her dearest smiles.

This world has suns, but they are overcast;This world has sweets, but they're of ling'ring bloom;Life still expects, and empty falls at last;Warm Hope on tiptoe drops into the tomb.

I would certainly end up forever crying the blues into a coffee cup in a park for old men playing chess or silly games of some sort.

His folly has not fellow Beneath the blue of day That gives to man or woman His heart and soul away.

All nature mourns, the skies relent in showers; hushed are the birds, and closed the drooping flowers.

I want to write songs that are so sad, the kind of sad where you take someone's little finger and break it in three places.

In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed-- But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted.

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dreams, Where there is neither sense of life or joys, But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems; And e'en the dearest--that I love the best-- Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.

Affection makes fools. Always, without exception, love digs a channel that's sooner or later flooded by the briny water of despair.

... Nessun maggior dolore Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Nella miseria. (There is no greater pain than to remember a happy time when one is in misery.)

The evening light was like honey in the trees When you left me and walked to the end of the street Where the sunset abruptly ended. The wedding-cake drawbridge lowered itself To the fragile forget-me-not flower. You climbed aboard. Burnt horizons suddenly paved with golden stones, Dreams I had, including suicide, Puff out the hot-air balloon now. It is bursting, it is about to burst

And those whom once my song had cheered and gladdened, If still they live, rove through the world now saddened.