Madness Quotes - Page 2

To feel our character, our personality, and our personal, hard-won history fade from being is to be exposed to whatever lies beneath these comforting, operational conveniences. What remains when the conscious and functioning self has been erased is mankind's fundamental condition – irrational, violent, guilt-wracked, despairing, and mad.

What might happen if we could somehow reorient ourselves toward our more loving, bonobo side rather than our inner mad chimpanzee?

Maybe it is not the 'mad' people who should be fixed in order to function in our society, but our society that needs to be fixed so that we do not interfere with their function.

Se tudo o resto não me basta por que hei-de impedir o efeito paliativo das benzodiazepinas e a volúpia desta evocação alucinatória?If everything else is not enough for me why should I stop the palliative effect of benzodiazepines and the lust of this hallucinatory evocation?

Is it so far from madness to wisdom?" - Daenerys Targaryen

I finally gave in today. Admitting that I haven't been able to do it alone, that's defeat right? But do a couple pills change why I'm here? Will my spirit be altered? Do my passions change? Will I lose hope either way? My madness is what makes me. It’s my most unique beauty.

When Kafka allows a friend to understand that he writes because otherwise he would go mad, he knows that writing is madness already, his madness, a kind of vigilence, unrelated to any wakefulness save sleep's: insomnia. Madness against madness, then. But he believes that he masters the one by abandoning himself to it; the other frightens him, and is his fear; it tears through him, wounds and exalts him. It is as if he had to undergo all the force of an uninterruptable continuity, a tension at the edge of the insupportable which he speaks of with fear and not without a feeling of glory. For glory is the disaster.

We're all mad, the whole damned race. We're wrapped in illusions, delusions, confusions about the penetrability of partitions, we're all mad and in solitary confinement.

Emancipation resulting in madness. Unlimited freedom to choose and play a tremendous variety of roles with a lot of coarse energy.

Her presence incites madness within me and yet it calms me.

All forms of madness, bizarre habits, awkwardness in society, general clumsiness, are justified in the person who creates good art.

The only performance that makes it, that makes it all the way is the one that achieves madness.

No idea with who has no idea

Trying not to believe things when in your heart you are almost sure they are true, is as bad for the temper as anything I know.

Mad people are very emotionally orientated! They have complex feelings, they’re easily upset, but are also easy to please! Most mad people have lonely lives, as nobody understands them. So they become “Lost Souls.” They dream a lot. Go within their minds to search - some will turn strange, become dangerous. So a madman is created! His world becomes a mission.

Fantasy, an unflagging optimism is necessary for a writer at all stages of this rough game. A kind of madness is therefore necessary, when there is every logical reason for a state of depression and discouragement. Perhaps the fact that I can react with utter gloom to this is what keeps me from being psychotic and keeps me merely neurotic. I am doing quite a good day's work today. But I am also aware of the madness that actually sustains me, and I am not made more comfortable or happy by it.

In a town like London there are always plenty of not quite certifiable lunatics walking the streets, and they tend to gravitate towards bookshops, because a bookshop is one of the few places where you can hang about for a long time without spending any money.

I have felt the wind on the wing of madness.

We are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter

There's always a siren, singing you to shipwreck. Some of us may be more susceptible than others are, but there's always a siren. It may be with us all our lives, or it may be many years or decades before we find it or it finds us. But when it does find us, if we're lucky we're Odysseus tied up to the ship's mast, hearing the song with perfect clarity, but ferried to safety by a crew whose ears have been plugged with beeswax. If we're not at all lucky, we're another sort of sailor stepping off the deck to drown in the sea.

«…you’re too old not to have had, how shall I say, certain experiences. You’ve had bad internet dates. You’ve had people be creeps to you. You’ve seen what you’ve seen; you’ve felt what you’ve felt. Ideology is for people who don’t trust their own experiences and perceptions of the world»«I feel like I am going mad»«Madness is actually quite rare in individuals. It’s groups of people who go mad. Countries, cults ... religions»

My rage is derived from eyes so sharp they see through the idiocy being passed off as sophistication. Under the cloak of universal themes and terms such as freedom, change, and acceptance, madness ensues, being readily welcomed by those whose mind's eye questions nothing.

You’ve been inexpressibly lucky,” he said finally. “And inexpressibly mad, although in your case the two seem to be the same thing

They say that it's a crazy world out there. I don't mind contributing by a bit of madness myself.

He started hammering the ground with all his might and the sky opened up, raining heavily on him. He looked at the sky, heard that thunder and saw that lightning. He laughed maniacally before raising the hammer again.

It's madness the sheep to talk peace with the wolf

Blackmail threats are e-mails from madmen.

[defines a madman as] a man who preferred to become mad,in the socially accepted sense of the word, rather than forfeit a certain superior idea of human honor.

Fuck me,” I whispered, giving him permission, taking him into my flesh, a soft invitation to madness.

When faced with unbridled wildness of reality, dinosaurs fall into fevered delusions of grandeur. In fits of madness, they recreate the world in their own overblown image, bull-dozing the wild and replacing it with a wasteland that reflects their own emptiness. Where there was once the incredibly complex diversity of nature, there is now the dead simplicity of asphalt and concrete.

If the love is not madness, then the sex is not insane

Life was taking its vengeance on me, and that vengeance consisted merely in coming back, nothing more. Every case of madness involves something coming back. People who are possessed are not possessed by something that just comes but instead by something that comes back. Sometimes life comes back. If in me everything crumbled before that power, it is not because that power was itself necessarily an overwhelming one: it in fact had only to come, since it had already become too full-flowing a force to be controlled or contained - when it appeared it overran everything. And then, like after a flood, there floated a wardrobe, a person, a loose window, three suitcases. And that seemed like Hell to me, that destruction of layers and layers of human archaeology.

What frightened me most was, I could no longer believe in my own life as a story. Everyone needs a story, a part to play in order to avoid the realization that life is without significance. How else do any of us survive? It’s what makes life bearable, even interesting. When it becomes neither, people say you’ve lost the plot. Or just lost it.

It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane.

Madness is only an amplification of what you already are.

All living things contain a measure of madness that moves them in a strange, sometimes inexplicable ways.

The Mad Scene. Enter Ophelia!

May the dead forgive me, I can do no otherBut as I am commanded; to do more is madness." - Ismene

We are all just illusions of what we want the world to believe about us, no one even begins to assume what lurks below my surface, not even my best friends. ~Callum~

Maybe all Americans who suffer from melancholy act as if they have gone mad. But I truly thought he might throw himself in the river, and I don't want his ghost visiting to keep telling me he's sorry.

Brave, impossible Alice. Stop being so sensible.

What if the insane are too raw to know which stations are real and which are just confused static?

You can grow up being a troublemaker and then before you know it the next thing you’re doing is listening to Frank Zappa whilst chilling out…now that’s the intelligent way out. What would a psychiatrist say about that?

The cab driver is staring at me in his mirror. I'm talking to myself."The second sign of madness," I explain."What's the first one?""Killing lots of people and eating their genitals."He laughs and sneaks another look at me.

My soul is a black maelstrom, a great madness spinning about a vacuum, the swirling of a vast ocean around a hole in the void, and in the waters, more like whirlwinds than waters, float images of all I ever saw or heard in the world: houses, faces, books, boxes, snatches of music and fragments of voices, all caught up in a sinister, bottomless whirlpool.

I'm beginning to think information is our addictive madness.

She saw him like he was the only star in the whole damn sky. Like he was the only bridge between her sanity and madness.

I see now the virtue in madness, for this country knows no law nor any boundary. I pity the poor shades confined to the Euclidean prison that is sanity

The origin of illness may be in the past, but the virulent crisis must be dynamically tackled. I believe in attacking the core of the illness, through its present symptoms, quickly, directly. The past is a labyrinth. One does not have to step into it and move step by step through every turn and twist. The past reveals itself instantly, in today’s fever or abscess of the soul.

There are different categories of madmen, and different types of asylums! I know absolutely nothing about the asylums that house the madman who thinks he is a space man. Would you believe that 90% of madmen are treated in outside clinics?

This is what I am talking about: the bewitching power of moonlight. Moonlight incites dark passions like a cold flame, making hearts burning with the intensity of phosphorus.

They burn books now, mama.The monsters burn fucking books now, mama. They have eyes full of disappointing madness. Their tongues taste like fulvous indoctrination. They teach us. Teach us sadism, hatred, lust to kill, conformity. What do you see when you look at me? Daddy?

What do you think the world is if not just an endless parade of madness? To make war is madness. To seek power is madness." She laughed louder, throwing her arms wide. "And madness is glorious!

All scholars are a bit mad. All obsessions are dangerous.

I went through a period where I couldn’t keep off the establishment’s roofs, it was a serious urge I had. To look at a drainpipe and start shaking with excitement, nobody knows the feeling of hitting a prison roof, not unless you’ve done it. Let me tell you, it’s like a lotto win - it’s power. You’re the governor; it’s a kick in the teeth to the system.

Worse than madness. Sanity.

Madness exist in the mind.

Sex and love they choose the different paths. Love always leads to devotion, sacrifice, and dedication, which are forms of insanity and madness; but sex it is always about comfort, pleasure and power.

Oh sure, everyone else charges monsters and it's brave, I do it once and I'm a madman.

With every vial of success there is always a pinch of madness.