Sweet pulp and sour skin -
Or was it sweet outside, and sour within?

I inherited a vile melancholy from my father, which has made me mad all my life, at least not sober

There are some that will say/ That a few hearts/ Will take on a sadness/ For all humankind/ And the sorrow is so deep/ That it touches a soul forever

Everything tender and melancholy - as life is sometimes, just for one moment.

He was a Frenchman, a melancholy-looking man. His aspect was that of one who has been looking for the leak in a gas pipe with a lighted candle.

Youth is an intoxication without wine, someone says. Life is an intoxication. The only sober man is the melancholiac, who, disenchanted, looks at life, sees it as it really is, and cuts his throat. If this be so, I want to be very drunk. The great thing is to live, to clutch at our existence and race away with it in some great and enthralling pursuit. Above all, I must beware of all ultimate questions- they are too maddeningly unanswerable- let me eschew philosophy and burn Omar.