I don't know why, but rain comes into my head the minute I think of my childhood.
I’m a quiet person. I spend time observing, not speaking.
Everyone looked pensive, which is good cover-up for clueless.
Ultimately, Photography is subversive, not when it frightens, repels, or even stigmatizes, but when it is pensive, when it thinks.
Witty, brooding, contemplative, explosive: take your pick.
The misapprehension about me is that I am some loud, rampant maniac. I am actually very pensive and quiet.
Can Israelis be wistful? It is not the characteristic we usually associate with them; more typically they are said to be tough, sweet, angry, thoughtful, demanding - not wistful.
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears.
People tell me I look mournful. They say, 'Cheer up, Dan, it's not that bad!' Sometimes I just look into space, which freaks people out. If I was ever required to do anything other than look haunted, I could. I'm a happy person.
Hoyt was by himself right under one of the portable lights rigged up for the occasion. He had his hands thrust in his pockets, and he looked more serious than I’d ever seen him. There was something strange about the sight, and after a second I figured out why. It was one of the few times I’d ever seen Hoyt alone.
I'm just melancholy by nature, and a lot of that gets into my writing.
You're told that you're in your head too much, a phrase that's often deployed against the quiet and cerebral. Or maybe there's another word for such people: thinkers.
I wasn’t having second thoughts, but I was having thoughts.
Melancholy is a state that I very much enjoy being in, actually. It's not the same as feeling sad. It's a more complex emotion; it derives from a tragic view of the world, a tragic view of art.
Like them you are tall and taciturn, and you are sad, all at once, like a voyage.
All music, even if its occasion be a gay one, renders us pensive.
Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.
Franny was staring at the little blotch of sunshine with a special intensity, as if she were considering lying down in it.
Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.
Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.
The winding down of summer puts me in a heavy philosophical mood.
She glances at the photo, and the pilot light of memory flickers in her eyes.
