madness

Nūllum magnum ingenium sine mixtūr_ d_mentiae fuitNo great talent without an element of madness

Madness is a regenerating thing. Like a phoenix, when one strand dies, another burns anew.

If u are tree, i'll be your shadow,If you free, i'll be your hobbie,If you fly,i'll be your wings,If you cry,i'll be your tears,If you are high,i'll be Your wine,If you are mad,I'll be You Love,If You are Life,I'll Be your Soul!OctavE

In a world that thought itself so wise yet behaved so stupidly, it was possible sometimes to believe that only the mad saw matters as they truly were, that only people like my brother were prepared to admit what they saw from the corner of their eye.

And from the coffin of your madness there is no escape.

How could you get mad at someone who neither needed to attack nor was at all worried about being able to defend? It was like getting mad at Switzerland.

There is a difference between being mad and being surrounded by retards.

You who understand what a human mind can be, how can you bear it? I don't have the hundredth part of your mind and there are days when I think I'll go mad. I can feel it. Or hear it. It's more like hearing something creeping along the walls, just behind my head, getting closer and closer. A big insect, maybe a scorpion. A dry skittering, that's what madness sounds like to me.

If there was one thing I feared as I was growing up . . . No, that's stupid. I feared hundreds of things: the dark, the death of my father, the possibility that I might rejoice the death of my mother, sums involving vernier calipers, groups of schoolboys with nothing much to do, death by drowning. But of all these, I feared the most the possibility that I might go mad too.

When life is this dull, you have to invent purpose. Collecting torn-up newspaper gives you a hobby, provides an anchoring intimacy with your surroundings, keeps the streets clean. Or so you think. Then one day you wake up and realise that it was all a con: what you had thought was an escape from madness was in fact the arrival.

I prayed for death so as not to live in madness.

Indeed, in that sense we__e all rather often almost like mad people, only with the slight difference that the __ick_ are somewhat madder than we are, so that it__ necessary to draw a line here.

All men are mad in some way or another, and inasmuch as you deal discreetly with your madmen, so deal with God's madmen too, the rest of the world.

When all you have to face all life issues is the attitude forced on to you by society traditions, you will then regret not being the mad you used to be but will never be again.

Those teetering on madness hold keys to doors you know nothing about. You must ask yourself if these rooms are worth visiting__f in the end life would have made more sense having been in them.

You have to quit confusing a madness with a mission.

Worse than madness. Sanity.

... your grasp, even in fury, would have a charm for me...