Quotes: 17 total. 1 About.
Sorted by: Search Results (Descending)
|Words (count)||73||24 - 216|
|Search Results||26||10 - 70|
|Date (year)||2309||1700 - 8601|
• Bad Mood Quotes About 6 quotes
• Broken-hearted Quotes About 22 quotes
• Crestfallen Quotes About 1 quotes
• Dejected Quotes About 22 quotes
• Depression Quotes About 175 quotes
• Desolate Quotes About 267 quotes
• Despair Quotes About 954 quotes
• Despondent Quotes About 13 quotes
• Disconsolate Quotes About 10 quotes
• Dismal Quotes About 78 quotes
• Doleful Quotes About 25 quotes
• Dolorous Quotes About 4 quotes
• Down And Out Quotes About 8 quotes
• Downcast Quotes About 19 quotes
• Downhearted Quotes About 2 quotes
• Feel Down Quotes About 5 quotes
• Feel Low Quotes About 6 quotes
• Feel Sorry Quotes About 44 quotes
• Forlorn Quotes About 83 quotes
• Gloomy Quotes About 152 quotes
• Glum Quotes About 13 quotes
• Hapless Quotes About 35 quotes
• Heartbroken Quotes About 12 quotes
• Heartsick Quotes About 3 quotes
• Inconsolable Quotes About 6 quotes
• Melancholy Quotes About 274 quotes
• Miserable Quotes About 494 quotes
• Moody Quotes About 36 quotes
• Mournful Quotes About 70 quotes
• Regrettable Quotes About 35 quotes
• Sad Quotes About 1020 quotes
• Sadden Quotes About 5 quotes
• Saddened Quotes About 41 quotes
• Sadder Quotes About 34 quotes
• Saddest Quotes About 49 quotes
• Sadly Quotes About 177 quotes
• Sadness Quotes About 191 quotes
• Somber Quotes About 24 quotes
• Sorrow Quotes About 1159 quotes
• Sorry State Quotes About 3 quotes
• Tragic Quotes About 452 quotes
• Unhappy Quotes About 451 quotes
• Unlucky Quotes About 58 quotes
• Woe Quotes About 544 quotes
• Wretched Quotes About 324 quotes
Still, as I mused, the naked room, The alien firelight died away; And from the midst of cheerless gloom I passed to bright, unclouded day.
The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon.
It was a Sunday afternoon, wet and cheerless; and a duller spectacle this earth of ours has not to show than a rainy Sunday in London.
A religion so cheerless, a philosophy so sorrowful, could never have succeeded with the masses of mankind if presented only as a system of metaphysics. Buddhism owed its success to its catholic spirit and its beautiful morality.
Cling to thy home! If there the meanest shed Yield thee a hearth and shelter for thy head, And some poor plot, with vegetables stored, Be all that Heaven allots thee for thy board, Unsavory bread, and herbs that scatter'd grow Wild on the river-brink or mountain-brow; Yet e'en this cheerless mansion shall provide More heart's repose than all the world beside.
Better a life like a falling star, brief bright across the dark, than the long, long waiting of the immortals, loveless and cheerlessly wise.
I presume that to the uninitiated the formulae will appear cold and cheerless; but let it be remembered that, like other mathematical formulae, they find their origin in the divine source of all geometry. Whether I shall have the satisfaction of taking part in their exposition, or whether that will remain for some more profound expositor, will be seen in the future.
This doctrine of equality is essential to conversation; so much may be admitted by anyone who knows what conversation is. Once arguing at a table in a tavern the most famous man on earth would wish to be obscure, so that his brilliant remarks might blaze like the stars on the background of his obscurity. To anything worth calling a man nothing can be conceived more cold or cheerless than to be king of your company.
The sweetest type of heaven is home — nay, heaven is the home for whose acquisition we are to strive the most strongly. Home, in one form and another, is the great object of life. It stands at the end of every day's labor, and beckons us to its bosom; and life would be cheerless and meaningless, did we not discern across the river that divides us from the life beyond, glimpses of the pleasant mansions prepared for us.
What do we want with this vast, worthless area? This region of savages and wild beasts, of deserts of shifting sands and whirlwinds of dust, of cactus and prairie dogs? To what use could we ever hope to put these great deserts, or those endless mountain ranges, impenetrable and covered to their very base with eternal snow? What can we ever hope to do with the western coast, a coast of three thousand miles, rock-bound, cheerless, uninviting, and not a harbor on it? What use have we for this country?
They do not speak of boundless skies, of passing loves like silver clouds. They speak of cheerless towns, unwound: on hazy moors of muffled music.
Jesus, still lead on, Till our rest be won! And although the way be cheerless, We will follow calm and fearless; Guide us by Thy hand To our fatherland!
The cold winds sweeping the mountain-height, And pathless was the dreary wild, And ’mid the cheerless hours of night A mother wandered with her child: As through the drifting snows she press’d, The babe was sleeping on her breast.
“I have been waiting for a sign. I knew that if I waited here long enough my bird, that tarishawk that rests here each day, I knew that he would come. Our Mother said that if he flew from the right, then I would have good fortune. If he came from the left, my journey would be disastrous for me, and it would bear no positive fruits for you.” “And the hawk? Which way did it come? Did it come from the left?” Dore smiled once more; his smile was always the most cheerless aspect of him. “The hawk has not come at all,” he said.
[The] chief [of the gods of Cimmeria] is Crom. He dwells on a great mountain. What use to call on him? Little he cares if men live or die. Better to be silent than to call his attention to you; he will send you dooms, not fortune! He is grim and loveless, but at birth he breathes power to strive and slay into a man's soul. What else shall men ask of the gods? ... There is no hope here or hereafter in the cult of my people. In this world men struggle and suffer vainly, finding pleasure only in the bright madness of battle; dying, their souls enter a gray misty realm of clouds and icy winds, to wander cheerlessly throughout eternity.
On the abolition of the Macedonian monarchy, the supremacy of Rome was not only an established fact from the pillars of hercules to the mouths of the nile and the orontes, but, as if it were the final decree of fate, pressed on the nations with all the weight of an inevitable necessity, and seemed to leave them merely the choice of perishing in hopeless resistance or in hopeless endurance. If history were not entitled to insist that the earnest reader should accompany her through good and evil days, through landscapes of winter as well as of spring, the historian might be tempted to shun the cheerless task of tracing the manifold and yet monotonous turns of this struggle between power and weakness, both in the Spanish provinces already annexed to the Roman empire and in the African, Hellenic, and the Asiatic territories which were still treated as clients of Rome. But, however unimportant and subordinate the individual conflicts may appear, they possess collectively a deep historical significance; and, in particular, the state of things in Italy at this period is only intelligible in the light of the reaction which the provinces exercised over the mother-country.
Poor little Angelina, too, sheds silent tears, for Edwin has given up carrying her old handkerchief in the inside pocket of his waistcoat. Both are astonished at the falling off in the other one, but neither sees their own change. If they did they would not suffer as they do. They would look for the cause in the right quarter—in the littleness of poor human nature—join hands over their common failing, and start building their house anew on a more earthly and enduring foundation. But we are so blind to our own shortcomings, so wide awake to those of others. Everything that happens to us is always the other person's fault. Angelina would have gone on loving Edwin forever and ever and ever if only Edwin had not grown so strange and different. Edwin would have adored Angelina through eternity if Angelina had only remained the same as when he first adored her. It is a cheerless hour for you both when the lamp of love has gone out and the fire of affection is not yet lit, and you have to grope about in the cold, raw dawn of life to kindle it. God grant it catches light before the day is too far spent. Many sit shivering by the dead coals till night come.