Seasonal Affective Disorder Quotes

At the best of times, spring hurts depressives.

There was a week where I was depressed with the rain, and people were telling me to get a light box. But I live on the 14th floor of an apartment complex, and I see the Broadway Bridge and Mount Hood, and it keeps me such company. And like true Oregonians, I don't carry an umbrella anymore.

Dull winter will re-appear.

I get depressed when the sun is clouded over. It affects me.

I'm a winter girl. I like coming out when things are desolate and everybody's ready to slit their wrists.

Winter is the season of alcoholism and despair.

The next five months are grim ones. I always feel sorry to have the summertime change, with the dark evenings closing in mid-afternoon, and will try to lay in some physical comforts these months - the best insurance against gloominess for me.

Time seems to slow down after the winter holiday. New York loses all of its winter romance and is just cold.

Happiness is a by-product rather than an end in itself. It pops into your life unbidden, and then tends to pop out again. I'm on record as being depressive. It is related to winter.

This possibility bothered me as I thought it was not advisable to remain in one academic environment, and the long dark winters in Edinburgh could be rather dismal.

November is the most disagreeable month in the whole year.

Oh the long and dreary Winter! Oh the cold and cruel Winter!

Nothing is as tedious as the limping days, When snowdrifts yearly cover all the ways, And ennui, sour fruit of incurious gloom, Assumes control of fate’s immortal loom

February is a suitable month for dying. Everything around is dead, the trees black and frozen so that the appearance of green shoots two months hence seems preposterous, the ground hard and cold, the snow dirty, the winter hateful, hanging on too long.

Oddly enough I never used to suffer from depression on cold, gray, cloudy days like this. I feel as if nature is in harmony with me, that it reflected my soul. On the other hand, when the sun appeared, the children would come out to play in the streets, and everyone was happy that it was such a lovely day, and then I would feel terrible, as if that display of exuberance in which i could not participate was somehow unfair.

February is just plain malicious. It knows your defenses are down.

I love grey. My mom told me that when I was younger, I would get mildly depressed when it was grey all the time. I'd be darker when it was dark out. But as an adult, I really love it.

I like these cold, gray winter days. Days like these let you savor a bad mood.

I do not like January very much. It is too stationary. Not enough happens. I like the evidences of life, and in January there are too few of them.

It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want—oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!

Lots of people go mad in January. Not as many as in May, of course. Nor June. But January is your third most common month for madness.

Though February lay about her shoulders like a cloak of lead.

Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone. But grief returns with the revolving year.

As much as I liked the build-up to Christmas, the week after always socked me with the blues.

In London, the weather would affect me negatively. I react strongly to light. If it is cloudy and raining, there are clouds and rain in my soul.