Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Gloomy. 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 Gloomy Quotes And Sayings by 96 Authors including David Letterman,Nora Gallagher,Denise Mina,Sue Perkins,George Carlin for you to enjoy and share.
What a day. It's 53 and gloomy - like President Obama.
On staring out at a gloomy day: First you must realize that it is the day that is gloomy, not you. If you want to be gloomy, too, that's all right, but it's not mandatory.
I love bleak things.
Frightfully pale and perpetually odd
Weather forecast for tonight: dark.
Happyish. Well, happyish isn't so bad.'
'It's the most we can hope for.
Nights dark beyond darkness and the days more gray each one than what had gone before.
The sky the sky- same as it always was.Sky-- Sara Gruen
Gloom we have always with us, a rank and sturdy weed, but joy requires tending.
The misty morning crawleth grey from dusk to the reluctant day.
Gloom and darkness are temporary. Joy comes in the morning.
Outside it was dark, but not as dark as it was inside of me.
From there, the future is a place that looks darker every day.
Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life.
Sometimes it rained, but mostly it was just dull, a land without shadows. It was like living inside Tupperware.
Well it's a gloomy, rainy old day to be here in London, but it could be worse; I could be in Saudi Arabia where men are men, and women are cattle. Can I say that?
The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds Flash the white caps of the sea.
The wind and the rain, gives this place a gleam that just isn't natural. And the ground, alive with crawling things, crawling death.
The same darkness, with new shadows in it.
They are quite hopeless - drooling, driveling, doleful, depressing, dropsical drips.
The winter will be long and bleak. Nature has a dismal aspect.
It was dark now, and broodingly sluggish. Like something supine waiting to spring, with just the tip of its tail twitching. Leaves stood still on the trees. An evil green star glinted in the black sky like a hostile eye, like an evil spying eye.
("For The Rest Of Her Life")
Any rainy summer morning, of course, has the seeds of gloomy alienation sown in. But a rainy summer morning far from home - when your personal clouds don't move but hang - can easily produce the feeling of the world as seen from the grave. This I know.
The blackness of darkness, forever.
The sky was dark and gloomy, the air was damp and raw, the streets were wet and sloppy. The smoke hung sluggishly above the chimney-tops as if it lacked the courage to rise, and the rain came slowly and doggedly down, as if it had not even the spirit to pour.
Warm evenings, pale mornings, bottle of blues
It was another dark and windy night. Like so many others.
Sound seemed muted, and night darker, scent and taste dulled. It was as if the world had been robbed of its brightness. He had left me behind to dwell alone in a dimmed and stale place.
gloomy, pensive, discontented temper This melancholy flatters, but unmans you; What is it else but penury of soul, A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind? - JOHN DRYDEN AT
O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,
Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse
Without all hope of day!
It is a dreary world out there. It makes one thankful after all to be indoors with a fire burning in the hearth.
The spring air just on the cold side of perfect, the late-afternoon light heavenly in its hurtfulness.
The weather in England can really darken your spirits.
Dark and Dangerous. And all mine.
It was a spring day, the sort that gives people hope: all soft winds and delicate smells of
warm earth. Suicide weather.
All around were horror, and thick gloom, and a black sweltering desert of ebony.
Life's a gloomy puddle, until you start jumping in it.
Gray day. Everything is gray. I watch. But nothing moves today.
Life is a mixture of light and shadow, calm and storm, and it's all good.
As ofttimes as it rains on my little spot of earth, you'd think I'd grow accustomed to the gloom.
The main thing I sense is...darkness." As soon as the words were out I realized how awful they sounded, so I rushed to clarify, "But it's not a bad darkness. It's more like a warm-summer-night kind of darkenss, not the monster-under-the-bed kind of darkness.
Night. Rain. A livid sky pierces the lacework
Of spires and towers, the silhouette of a Gothic
Town dim in the gray distance.
At this season of the year, darkness is a more insistent thing than cold. The days are short as any dream.
I'm very sunny. You know, I'm always optimistic.
Darkly, deeply, beautifully blue - the sky
Moping melancholy And moon-struck madness.
I wonder whether my bleak-o-meter is set differently from other people's.
The sun was directly overhead, but blotted out by low storm clouds as depressing as suicide.
Morning. Strawberry sky dusted with white winter powder sugar sun. And nobody to munch on it with
So dull and dark are the November days. The lazy mist high up the evening curled, And now the morn quite hides in smoke and haze; The place we occupy seems all the world.
It could be worse... It could be raining
This is both a gloomy and a hopeful book.
Dark with excessive bright.
a small room that smelled of darkness.
was dark and no more inviting
It's a vast, lonely, forbidding expanse of nothing rather like clouds and clouds of pumice stone. And it certainly does not appear to be a very inviting place to live or work.
I lie flat, the damp air above me like a lid. Like earth. I wish it would rain. Better still, a thunderstorm, black clouds, lightning, ear-splitting sound.
Describe your state of mine. Insecure. Uncertain. Feverish
Today was a rainy, dreary, wear-your-steel-toed-mud-shoes Wednesday.
in November was dismal. It was a time of short gray days and long
The nights are clear but suffused with sloth and sullen expectation.
I feel like a man standing at the mouth of an old mine-shaft that is full of cave-ins waiting to happen, standing there and saying goodbye to the daylight.
Mornings are grey. Always the same. Absolutely empty.
Night's candles have burned out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountaintops. Hope tinged with melancholy - like life.
Altogether, a pleasant place, marred by activities of unpleasant people whose qualities, perhaps, are sad reflections of sadder environments.
Water. Like a blanket. Dark. Intoxicating. Cold.
Weather forcast for tonight: dark.
Just a sort of unexplained sadness that comes each afternoon when the new day is gone forever and there's nothing ahead but increasing darkness.
Despair was a heavy blackness that let no light in or out. It was a hell beyond expression.
Seemed to myself to be dull, boring, inadequate, thick brained, unlit, unresponsive, chill skinned, bloodless, and sparrow drab.
Like melancholic face of 'Radha' due to the absence of 'Krishna', that evening was gloomy.
The strange days of summer. There is no here, no there, the days are incredibly still, the light is brightly muted--it's hard to know if that's the passing of the season or poor air quality.
The light was luminescence and gloom, like the sky at midnight speckled with stars. All she could smell was the ocean...
The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon.
The gloomy and the resentful are always found among those who have nothing to do or who do nothing.
I know it won't stay this way. I know there will be days when this view is covered with grey and gloomy clouds. I don't know what tomorrow will bring. But for right now, I enjoy this moment. I breathe, I feel free, and I'm thankful that for today ...
I am living.
...all i see are dark dreary rain clouds but it's okay because the sun always sets like an indian...
What I'm feeling . . . it's unfamiliar - carefree, playful, light. . . . I feel light.
The weather is nice outside, but it's cloudy in my heart.
I felt dull and flat and full of shattered visions.
sunbeams everywhere and mist floating like freshly minted
absence
looks like a lake bed flooded with sky
sounds like cotton howling
tastes like tear-stained pillows
smells like churning bile and burnt hair
feels like screaming agony, my heart dying and dying
A silent dark ... as black as a moonless lake, as a ravine's wings, darkness there and nothing more, merely this and nothing more ...
Such dreary streets! blocks of blackness, not houses, on either hand, and here and there a candle, like a candle moving about in a tomb.
Rain on roof outside window, gray light, deep covers and warm blankets. Rain and nip of autumn in air; nostalgia, itch to work better and bigger. That crisp edge of autumn.
The forecast was cloudy with extended periods of consciousness, followed by a stitch in my side and a sense of impending doom swelling to a symphony of demolition
Despair snuffs the sun from the firmament.
By ten o'clock, the Sunday-night blues set in. The bleak wasteland of an entire week of stupefyingly boring school stretched ahead of me like an endless desert highway.
The weather and my mood have little connection. I have my foggy and my fine days within me; my prosperity or misfortune has little to do with the matter.
A dull, dark, depressing day in Winter: the whole world looks like a Methodist church at Wednesday night prayer meeting.
The cold is waiting to ooze through the soles of your shoes. Maggot-damp, this city is festering: home to hollow faces of grey flesh. They stare from windows unclean, into the sun never reaches: dismal lives lived in dismal constriction.
Cheerfulness is as natural to the heart of a man in strong health as color to his cheek; and wherever there is habitual gloom there must be either bad air, unwholesome food, improperly severe labor, or erring habits of life.
The sky was dark blue twilight, pretty to look at but lonely to walk under.
It's twilight. It's the safest time of day for us. The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way ... the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?
Soon the evening gloom would materialize, infect the fibre-filled air, drape itself over her bed, depress her from now till morning.
Mandy loved the smell of a sunny day after a night of rain. The sun hit the orange puddles, the overgrown, soft, green grass on her lawn, and it beamed down through the orange steel mill smog, sending otherworldly, bizarre shadows across the concrete sidewalk.
Crowded rooms and lonesome tunes and very little sky.
Clouds suit my mood just fine.
The sky, drunk with spring and giddy with its fumes, thickened with clouds. Low clouds, drooping at the edges like felt sailed over the woods and rain leapt from them, warm, smelling of soil and sweat, and washing the last of the black armor-plating of ice from the earth.
Happy,Free,Confused,Lonley at the same timeTime-- Taylor Swift