madness

We can go mad whenever we like. We can leave our minds behind and play in the garden at night. The gate is always open. And the moon is always bright.

Creators almost always go mad.

I was in the situation of someone who has assumed, all his life, that madness was on eway, and suddenly in its grip, discovers that it is not only different from the way he'd imagined but that the person suffering from it is someone else, and that this someone else is not interested in finding out what madness is like: he is simply immersed in it, or it has descended on him, and that's that.

I have felt the wind on the wing of madness.

We yearn for a stranger to poke around in our heart. Such an irrational thing it is. Flutter once and lunacy behold.

Act _ make an event. Smash the coordinates and see where the smithereens fly. Let in the madness, and be sure to be a danger to oneself and others. Too much thinking turns you into that fool Hamlet.

They sent spies", Gramma went on, her voice a hush, "and they look like one man, but they can split into two, then four, and so on. I've seen it before. During the war. It's a Communist trick and they taught it to the Democrats so that they could take our guns. I would have fought them off, but they already made the shotgun disappear.

So when you find yourself locked onto an unpleasant train of thought, heading for the places in your past where the screaming is unbearable, remember there's always madness. Madness is the emergency exit.

There is a fissure in my vision and madness will always rush through.

In the midst of our worried searching we recklessly abandon the treasures that life has bestowed upon us in the mad hunt for that which we wish to bestow upon ourselves.

As Carl Jung put it, __n each of us there is another whom we do not know._ As Pink Floyd sang, __here__ someone in my head, but it__ not me.

Maybe I was crazy about you. Maybe I was just crazy.

Professors go batty too, perhaps more often than other people, although owing to their profession, their madness is less often remarked.

You have everything but one thing: madness. A man needs a little madness or else - he never dares cut the rope and be free.

Madness does not come by breaking out, but by giving in; by settling down in some dirty, little, self-repeating circle of ideas; by being tamed.

Marcus turned his back to her. He feared that if he saw her face, it might weaken his resolve. Love was indeed a madness.

The marvellous logic of the mad which seems to mock that of the logicians because it resembles it so exactly, or rather because it is exactly the same, and because at the secret heart of madness, at the core of so many errors, so many absurdities, so many words and gestures without consequence, we discover, finally, the hidden perfection of a language.

Madness need not be all breakdown. It may also be break-through. It is potential liberation and renewal as well as enslavement and existential death.