#mel

Where's your boyfriend, District 12? Still hanging on?" She asks. Well, as long as we're talking I'm alive. "He's out there now. Hunting Cato," I snarl at her. Then I scream at the top of my lungs. "Peeta!" Clove jams her fist into my windpipe, very effectively cutting off my voice. But her head's whipping from side to side, and I know for a moment she's at least considering I'm telling the truth. Since no Peeta appears to save me, she turns back to me. "Liar," she says with a grin. "He's nearly dead. Cato knows where he cut him. You've probably got him strapped up in some tree while you try to keep his heart going. What's in the pretty little backpack? That medicine for Lover Boy? Too bad he'll never get it. ↗

— Suzanne Collins

#cato #clove #hunger-games #katniss-everdeen #peeta-mellark

The depressed person is a radical, sullen atheist. ↗

— Julia Kristeva

#depression #melancholia #atheist

Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night. ↗

— Virginia Woolf

#night #sad #winter #winter

You and me Haymitch.Very cozy.Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights sitting around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tale. -Peeta Mellark ↗

— Suzanne Collins

#peeta-and-haymich #peeta-mellark #winter

At a few minutes before four, Peeta turns to me again. "Your favorite colour . . . it's green?" "That's right." Then I think of something to add. "And yours is orange." "Orange?" He seems unconvinced. "Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset," I say. "At least, that's what you told me once." "Oh." He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. "Thank you." But more words tumble out. "You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces." Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry. ↗

— Suzanne Collins

#katniss-and-peeta #peeta #peeta-mellark #words

The diabolical thing about melancholy is not that it makes you ill but that it makes you conceited and shortsighted; yes almost arrogant. You lapse into bad taste, thinking of yourself as Heine's Atlas, whose shoulders support all the world's puzzles and agonies, as if thousands, lost in the same maze, did not endure the same agonies. ↗

— Hermann Hesse

#melancholy

Autumn is as joyful and sweet as an untimely end. ↗

— Remy de Gourmont

#fall #melancholy #melancholy

Gwynn, she was always talking about wanting to be drunk and honestly I did want to encourage that, I wanted to go to a bar with her and let all the stuff sobriety pushed down be released so I could catch it in my palms and finally kiss her. She was just so sad. Melancholy was a fleshy wave permanently cresting on her face, she had to speak through it when she talked. ↗

— Michelle Tea

#emotion #longing #love #melancholy #sobriety

Hands that never touch. Lips that never meet. The Almost Lovers, never to be. ↗

— Rae Hachton

#heartbreak #lament #love #lovers-love-story #lovers-sadness

If one is to deal with people on a large scale and say what one thinks, how can one avoid melancholy? I don’t admit to being hopeless, though: only the spectacle is a profoundly strange one; and as the current answers don’t do, one has to grope for a new one, and the process of discarding the old, when one is by no means certain what to put in their place, is a sad one. ↗

— Virginia Woolf

#modernity #sadness #melancholy