De Maupassant on his spleen

It's true that sometimes I feel such a horror of living that I long to die, so intensely do I suffer from the relentless monotony of every landscape, of people's faces and their thoughts. I find the mediocrity of the universe appalling, revolting, I'm disgusted by the paltriness of everything, overwhelmed by the utter worthlessness of the human race.  And at other times I take delight in everything, like an animal. If my restless, tormented hyperactive mind soars full of hope toward things that are beyond our grasp and having realized the futility of its efforts, falls back into utter contempt for everything, my body hurls itself like an animal into the intoxicating pleasures that life has to offer...