And so we came forth and once again beheld the stars. Depression is a sunless planet, a poisonous fogbank.
Depression is a painful closing down of the senses.
Depression used to be called melancholia, a word which appears in the English language as early as the year 1303. So the word depression has slithered innocuously through our language like a slug, leaving little trace of its intrinsic malevolence, and preventing, by its very insipidness, a general awareness of the horrible intensity of this dreadful and raging disease. A Memoir of Madness. Styron recounts, Depression came on suddenly while I was in the glorious city of Paris to receive a prestigious literary award. The storm which swept me into the hospital in December began as a cloud no bigger than a wine goblet the previous June.