It’s how I fill the time when nothing’s happening. Thinking too much, flirting with melancholy.

I measure every Grief I meetWith narrow, probing, Eyes;I wonder if It weighs like Mine,Or has an Easier size.

Spanish rain,A maiden’s dress,Apothecary pillsAnd ancient thrills;Melancholy killsA girl’s caress.

There's a special quality to the loneliness of dusk, a melancholy more brooding even than the night's.

The anaesthetic effect of habit being destroyed, I would begin to think - and to feel - such melancholy things.

You felt a deep sorrow, the kind of melancholy you feel when you're in a beautiful place and the sun is going down

I wish to cry. Yet, I laugh, and my lipstick leaves a red stain like a bloody crescent moon on the top of the beer can.

The harmonica has musical wind, and is the breath of soul. It’s like a sad, lonely I love you lost in the breeze.

His jaw was slack and his mouth open, and he wondered if perhaps he would drown eventually; drowned by the falling rain.

For certain, neither of them sees a happy Present, as the gate opens and closes, and one goes in, and the other goes away.

That which others hear or read of, I felt and practised myself; they get their knowledge by books, I mine by melancholizing.

My world is a million shattered pieces put together, glued by my tears, where each piece is nothing but a reflection of YOU.

Even when it seems that there is no one else, always remember there's one person who never ceased to love you - yourself.

She stayed there, in her ball dress, without strength to go to bed, overwhelmed, on a chair, without a fire, without a thought.

Qué haré ahora con mis labios sin su boca para llenarlos? ¿Qué haré de mis adoloridos labios?