“Hemingway was a prisoner of his style. No one can talk like the characters in Hemingway except the characters in Hemingway. His style in the wildest sense finally killed him.”
Melancholic feeling
Melancholic Quotes — page 195 of 412
“We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh; few are angels.”
“Glory is like a circle in the water, which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, till, by broad spreading, it disperse to naught.”
“And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And asleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me must be heard of, say, I taught thee.”
“Last scene of all that ends this strange, eventful history, is second childishness and mere oblivion. I am sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”
“My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.”
“When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.”
“The language I have learnt these forty years, My native English, now I must forgo; And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony.”
“The weakest kind of fruit drops earliest to the ground.”
“For there was never yet philosoper That could endure the toothache patiently, However they have writ the style of gods, And made a push at chance and sufferance.”
“Verily, I swear, it is better to be lowly born, and range with humble livers in content, than to be perked up in a glistering grief, and wear a golden sorrow.”
“Unless the old adage must be verified, That beggars mounted, run their horse to death.”
“Let me be boiled to death with melancholy.”
“I would fain die a dry death.”
“The violence of either grief or joy, their own enactures with themselves destroy.”
“But I remember now I am in this earthly world, where to do harm Is often laudable, to do good sometime Accounted dangerous folly.”
“The earth, that is nature's mother, is her tomb.”
“. . . nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle.”
“You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.”
“Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.”