Melancholia (n.) strikes women hardest precisely because their nature is least inclined to it — the more foreign the humor, the more violently it seizes.
Melancholia (n.) can be the ash of a fire: immoderate heat, once it exhausts itself, cools into black melancholy like wax running down an inverted torch.
Melancholia (n.) is a sodden, almost diluvian world, deaf and blind to all but its one terror; mania a parched, panic world where all is flight.
Melancholia (n.) was fixed as a concept not by sharper observation but by a word: the cold black humor implied in its name became the color of the delirium itself.
Melancholia (n.) never reaches violence; it is madness at the limits of its own powerlessness — spirits jostling feebly, charged with shadow, an acid vapor that leaves only insipid phlegm.
Melancholia (n.) was given its stamp by sensibility rather than theory: languid fluids, darkened spirits, viscous blood, slimy viscera — a symbolic unity in which the theories changed and the qualities stayed.