Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Brooding. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Brooding Quotes And Sayings by 94 Authors including Robert Lyndon,Roland Barthes,Corrie Ten Boom,John Frederick Boyes,John Keats for you to enjoy and share.
Only a fool lies brooding over his problems. When the morning comes he's tired out and his problems are the same as before.
Don't say mourning. It's too psychoanalytic. I'm not mourning. I'm suffering.
Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength.
Sombre thoughts and fancies often require a little real soil or substance to flourish in; they are the dark pine-trees which take root in, and frown over the rifts of the scathed and petrified heart, and are chiefly nourished by the rain of unavailing tears, and the vapors of fancy.
The thought, the deadly thought of solitude.
The fear of your own solitude, of its vast surface and its infinity ... Remorse is the voice of solitude. And what does this whispering voice say? Everything in us that is not human anymore.
Nothing is more interesting than repressed emotion. The appearance of sardonic coldness and stoicism which has deceived you is but a hollow mockery; beneath it I secrete a maelstrom of impassioned feeling and a mausoleum of blighted hopes.
Worry is one of the most destructive scourges of mankind.
When any anxiety or gloom of the mind takes hold of you, make it a rule not to publish it by complaining; but exert yourselves to hide it, and by endeavoring to hide it you drive it away.
Anxiety compels a person to think, but it is the type of thinking that gives thinking a bad name: solipsistic, self-eviscerating, unremitting, vicious.
Melancholy can be seductive when it's twined with self-pity.
Melancholy and remorse forms the deep leaden keel which enables us to sail into the wind of reality.
Despair ... It hides away propagates, expands, and finally explodes
Worry is a cloud which rains destruction.
A tendancy to melancholy ... let it be observed, is a misfortune, not a fault.
One ought to avoid all unnecessary worry and exciting thoughts, and to cultivate a firm tranquility of mind. Melancholy reflections will in no way influence fate, whereas one may weaken the constitution by the waste of energy while indulging in them.
The contemplative life is often miserable. One must act more, think less, and not watch oneself live.
Worry, whatever its source, weakens, takes away courage, and shortens life.
When I lament and darken over my diminishments, I accomplish nothing. It's better to sit at the window all day, pleased to watch birds, barns, and flowers.
Nothing in life is more remarkable than the unnecessary anxiety which we endure, and generally create ourselves.
Depression is anger turned inward.
The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.
He talks about despair, how it drives in silence.
Our anxiety does not empty tomorrow of its sorrows, but only empties today of its strengths.
Black are the brooding clouds and troubled the deep waters, when the Sea of Thought, first heaving from a calm, gives up its Dead
Unhappiness slowly creeps up on you, like a shape-shifting monster waiting in the darkness of your hallway, his bulging eyes watching your every move. The breath on his slimy tongue makes the hairs on your neck stand up.
The depressed fall back exhausted from every undertaking.
Depression is rage spread thin.
Worry - a God, invisible but omnipotent. It steals the bloom from the cheek and lightness from the pulse; it takes away the appetite, and turns the hair gray.
The melancholy comes over me, the dismal misery of not knowing where I am, or perhaps losing any sense of who I am, as if the mist is bringing about an evaporation of identity, all the certainties of the self leaching away into the cloud.
Among our egocentric sad-sacks, despair is as addictive as heroin and more popular than sex, for the single reason that when one is unhappy one gets to pay a lot of attention to oneself. Misery becomes a kind of emotional masturbation.
Stop moping, sule," galladon said with a grunt."It doesn't suit you-it takes a fine sense of pessimism to brood with any sort of respectability.
Look at the toxic waste that most people put into the fertile garden of their minds every single day: the worries and anxieties, the fretting about the past, the brooding over the future and those self-created fears that wreak havoc within your inner world.
Worry in the dark can make it even darker.
Periods of silent solitude spent in introspective reflecting are sacred and a source of great strength and comfort. We can learn from listening to the rhythms of nature and from appreciating the eternal hush of the cosmos.
brooding over the upper reaches, became
Melancholy and remorse form the deep leaden keel which enables us to sail into the wind of reality; we run aground sooner than the flat-bottomed pleasure-lovers but we venture out in weather that would sink them and we choose our direction.
Worry is like a rocking chair. It uses up all your energy, but where
does it get you?
His sunrise mood evaporated with the dew, giving way to restlessness, disquiet. All his life, Lucius's moods had been prey to shifts of light, and now a leaden melancholy dragged at his spirits.
While silently brooding, I am drawn to the start of a sweet melody that travels to my ear from afar. I smile, reminded that my heart can dance when my feet can't.
An unfinished feeling.
Let's call my mood melancholy; let's call it remembrance. Or maybe let's call it longing. Yes, let's call it longing instead.
When hints of sadness creep into our soul, we must not flee into happy or distracting thoughts. Pondering the sadness until it becomes overwhelming can lead us to deep change in the direction of our being from self-preservation to grateful worship.
I walked out to brood on this life of ours, which seems from birth to death to be a steady loss, disguised by sudden gains and happiness, which persuade us of good fortune, when all the while the glass is emptying.
The author says that when an angry impulse is not immediately expressed, it turns to melancholy.
Fits of depression come over the most of us. Usually cheerful as we may be, we must at intervals be cast down. The strong are not always vigorous, the wise not always ready, the brave not always courageous, and the joyous not always happy.
Worry is a waste of emotional reserve".
If we didn't live venturously, plucking the wild goat by the beard, and trembling over precipices, we should never be depressed, I've no doubt; but already should be faded, fatalistic and aged.
I crave stillness,
And yet I fear the moment
Stillness turns into boredom,
And the moment boredom
Turns into loneliness.
Melancholy is sadness that has taken on lightness.
Dwelling on thoughts gives birth to feelings.
I am dwelling on things I love, even if a measure of tragedy is stitched into everything, if you follow the thread long enough
Lingering is so very lonely when one lingers all alone.
It is a lean employment of time to brood on what might have happened along some other turning.
There is among the people a silent, long-suffering grief; it withdraws into itself and is silent.
The sorrowful spirit finds relaxation in solitude.
Depression is sadness gone wrong
It's like the brooding hen sitting over a china egg.
Sitting still as stone watching - watching
People walking by you wondering why
No one ever stops to talk or thinks about it - if they ever did
But now, as I sat here alone and taskless in the gloom, I didn't know how to still my mind. Almost decade-old feelings resurfaced, clawing at my chest and heart, threatening to overwhelm me.
Despair has its own calms.
When I sit in my silence and look at my mind, it is only questions of longing and control that emerge to agitate me, and this agitation is what keeps me from evolving forward.
Worry is the darkroom in which negatives can develop.
Melancholy can be overcome only by melancholy.
I thought with melancholy how an author spends months writing a book, and maybe puts his heart's blood into it, and then it lies about unread till the reader has nothing else in the world to do.
I hide away in stillness, and the world spins on. I have wasted much.
Cowardly thoughts, anxious hesitation, Womanish timidity, timorous complaints Won't keep misery away from you And will not set you free.
But hushed be every thought that springs From out the bitterness of things.
Depression is a deep, black wave - so powerful, building from a swell and rising ... rising
But his eyes, dimmed by many paintless days under sun and rain, brood on over the solemn dumping ground.
Silence is its own kind of tension.
Despair is a tedious business and quickly becomes repetitive.
I had a dejected, brooding expression on my face, and I
could tell from the reflection in the window that it was also
an intriguing expression.
When people get disillusioned and get insecure and content about the future, they tend to brood about what might have been.
Sorrow preys upon Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it From its sad visions of the other world Than calling it at moments back to this. The busy have no time for tears.
a deep smothering emptiness
Worry is discounting possible future sorrows so that the individual may have present misery.
Melancholy people have two reasons for being so: they don't know or they hope.
Sorrow was my constant companion, even though I no longer wept. It was the shadow that followed me on sunny days, the weight pressing down upon my spirits on cloudy ones.
Melancholy is the happiness of being sad.
Never give way to melancholy; resist it steadily, for the habit will encroach.
In the night, I am kept awake by the endless chatter of my inner self. I hear it speak softly of old hurts and fondly of past loves, while its demands and anxieties resound throughout me in multitudes.
I could be calm and composed all day long, but the moment it is dark, my mind riots.
In the dark, thoughts become louder.
Too weary and dazed by unfinished sleep even to swear. There comes a degree of numbness in fatigue and exasperation which can be expressed only by a sullen silence.
Solitude and inaction are unraveling me right down to the core.
Depression is inertia.
Nothing is more painful to the human mind than, after the feelings have been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of inaction and certainty which follows and deprives the soul both of hope and fear.
If I were immersed in constant melancholy, I would not be who I am.
What would writing be without a bit of melancholy?
In my personal life, I am very contemplative.
Speak to me as to thy thinking
As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts
The worst of words ...
Anxiety beclouds the future ...
Those who are unhappy
clutch at shadows, and to
give themselves an enjoyment
that truth refuses them, they
artfully bring into being all
sorts of illusions.
Fretting grief the enemy of life.
Depression loses its power when fresh vision pierces the darkness.
When I need some striking inspiration about deep depression for my new painting, I just need to go to check my bank account ...
There can be nothing more baffling in a human relationship than silence, the dark loom of doubts and questions unexpressed.
Beneath this mask of selfish tranquility nothing exists except bitterness and boredom. I am one of those whom suffering has made empty and frivilous: each night in my dreams I pull the scab off a wound; each day, vacuous and habit ridden, I let it reform.
Concerning the factors of silence, solitude and darkness, we can only say that they are actually elements in the production of the infantile anxiety from which the majority of human beings have never become quite free.
Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy.