Madness Quotes - Page 4

Then he looked up, despite all best prior intentions. In four minutes, it would be another hour; a half hour after that was the ten-minute break. Lane Dean imagined himself running around on the break, waving his arms and shouting gibberish and holding ten cigarettes at once in his mouth, like a panpipe. Year after year, a face the same color as your desk. Lord Jesus. Coffee wasn't allowed because of spills on the files, but on the break he'd have a big cup of coffee in each hand while he pictured himself running around the outside grounds, shouting. He knew what he'd really do on the break was sit facing the wall clock in the lounge and, despite prayers and effort, count the seconds tick off until he had to come back and do this again. And again and again and again.

I personally could never come to terms with my label of ‘Criminally Insane’. Just because of my violent outbursts in prison, don’t mean to say I’m mad. Obviously I had become a disruptive element within the penal system. Uncontrollable! Unpredictable! But that don’t make insanity!

It may be crazy, but I'm the closest thing I have to a voice of reason.

You get used to the brain being squeezed. At nighttime in the darkness of your emptiness, it seems to swell back up and gives you some peace. In the darkness even the pain is not so bad. A bruise heals. (Time is the treatment.) But it’s your mind that’s tortured. Your thoughts are in turmoil and despair. Feelings of awesome revenge and destruction manifest themselves.

Absurdity is the ecstasy of intellectualism.

Don't give into him at all. Deny yourself. Because then your eyes will not be clouded by a madness that you cannot control, and then you will be able to learn to see him as he is. Do you understand?

Destiny stays stuck in the cage of words and thoughts if it is not pulled by the effective and planed efforts with the touch of a true madness your nature sparks with the every single breath that you take.

In a mad world, only the mad are sane. - AKIRA KUROSAWA

Mais, vrai, J'ai trop pleure! Les aubes sont navrantes. What a sad and beautiful line that is. I'd always hoped that someday I'd be able to use it.

Within the universe of the extraordinary, those qualities we designate to human concepts of gender are often shared, exchanged, or even completely obliterated. Because of this mixture of traits, these twins called Genius and Madness often appear to be the same thing. They both have a tendency to blur the lines of what we call norms, or established reality. They both, when we study that grand tapestry known as history and modern-day society, tend to stand out in much bolder relief than other figures.-- from Dancing with Madness, Dancing with Genius

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.

When a mad man found some certain way to express his insanity in original way, he would get promoted to be called an Artist.... Wait, are you talking about me?

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

Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence.

I said that my mother is mad. I said that. But you might not see it. I mean, you might not think that anything I've told you proves she is mad. But there are different kinds of madness. Some madness doesn't act mad to begin with, sometimes it will knock politely at the door, and when you let it in, it'll simply sit in the corner without a fuss - and grow. Then one day, maybe many months after your decision to take your son out of school and isolate him in a house for reasons that got lost in your grief, one day that madness will stir in the chair, and it will say to him, 'You look pale.

Is Bronson mad! Let me ask you! How else can I be? I’m probably the maddest guy on two legs if the truth was known, but prison will never beat me, I’d sooner die today than allow it too!

The madness of youth made me unafraid.

Pegging your contentment to the overall state of the world rather than of your own life: the basis of morality, or a sort of madness?

Unlike most I don’t fear prison, never have, never will. Obviously I don’t want it, I hate it, but it’s the hate that drives me on to survive.

But optimism dribbles away when horror repeats.

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.

All love stories are not same, perhaps a little madness makes it special.

Ask anybody, would you want an ex-madman living next door? It’s difficult enough being an ex-convict. It’s double hard for us ‘madmen’. Please believe it.

That night I slept badly, thrashing about in my bed, not quite asleep and not quite awake. At times I had the feeling there was someone else in my bedroom who was talking to me, but of course I could not deal with this perception in any realistic way, since I was half-asleep and half-awake, and thus, for all practical purposes, I was out of my mind.

Make no mistake: peaceful madmen are ahead of the future.

Have I..." I venture, terrified of the potential answer. "Have I gone mad?" "No, no, no." She says. "Okay, oui, peut-être, that depends. Maybe you have gone a little mad, and only for a little spell.

All living things contain a measure of madness that moves them in strange, sometimes inexplicable ways. This madness can be saving; it is part and parcel of the ability to adapt. Without it, no species would survive.

You don't understand, you fool' says Yegor, looking dreamily up at the sky. 'You've never understood what kind of person I am, nor will you in a million years... You just think I'm a mad person who has thrown his life away... Once the free spirit has taken hold of a man, there's no way of getting it out of him.

Se o problema são os demónios estrangula-os com a tua loucura.If the problem is the demons strangle them with your madness.

I was, a near grown man, sat in his dank, dark and rickety digs, feverishly hovering about the glare of a computer screen like a disorientated moth, one searching for a flaming light of recognition from someone/anyone!

Before the beginning of yearsThere came to the making of manTime, with a gift of tears;Grief, with a glass that ran;Pleasure, with pain for leaven;Summer, with flowers that fell;Remembrance, fallen from heaven,And madness risen from hell;Strength without hands to smite;Love that endures for a breath;Night, the shadow of light,And Life, the shadow of death.

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?

Weird how I can feel so frail and tiny sometimes, and other times so brave and bold and reckless and free, and . . . Does everybody feel the same? When people get grown-up, do they always feel grown-up and sensible and sorted out and . . . And do I want to feel grown-up? Do I want to stop feeling . . . paradoxical, nonsensical? Do I want to stop being crackers? Do I want to be destrangified? O yes, sometimes I want nothing more - but it only lasts a moment, then O I want to be the strangest and crakerest of everybody.

Evil is there, out there and in your faces! You have two choices, either run or fight! To run is to die a coward! To fight is to win!

As you see you can't change what has happen in past if I could I do my best to don't happen in other words I will fix the error, like not watching this stupid film or video and this minutes which have taken to do this stuff, to be used for extra time in the future. But unfortunately I wake up and hear "Hello, Hello, hey, hey you are living reality what you want is madness!

All they see is madness. It’s the same with the other men. They see my situation, not me.

It’s madness to see life as it is and not how it should be.

The fine line between genius and madness is a punch line. Duck, you idiot!

Indeed, in that sense we’re all rather often almost like mad people, only with the slight difference that the ‘sick’ are somewhat madder than we are, so that it’s necessary to draw a line here.

I have felt the wind on the wing of madness.

Madness is a bowl of poison cherries, chew them and die, but you die screaming in agony.

All belief is a form of voluntary madness.

It is more than love, barely less than madness. It’s never close enough.

You have to quit confusing a madness with a mission.

Perhaps I am too tame, too domestic a magician. But how does one work up a little madness? I meet with mad people every day in the street, but I never thought before to wonder how they got mad. Perhaps I should go wandering on lonely moors and barren shores. That is always a popular place for lunatics - in novels and plays at any rate. Perhaps wild England will make me mad.

If you haven’t lost your mind yet, that’s because you haven’t seen very much.

There nearly always is a method in madness.

...I would be the last person to say that madness is not a solution.

But only in mad people fear goes on constant night and day, wearing one ditch in the mind that all thoughts must travel in.

Madness is forever! We even smell different, our hearts don’t beat, they tick, our eyes are different, we don’t just see, we also pick up vibes. We are probably dehumanised and way past our ‘sell by’ date, totally unusable, bitter as lemons.

If we had to earn our age by thinking for ourselves at least once a year, only a handful of people would reach adulthood.

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

Madness is witlessness’s.

How do you stand it?" she said."Stand what?""All... this." Ella threw out her arm. "Does it not make you mad?"Clem glanced up. 'Much madness is divinest sense,' She said, and gave a small laugh. "There are plenty of mad women in here. I'm not sure I'm one of them though." She shrugged. "You'll get used to it.

Is there any courage, without craziness?

No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness.

I will put warm woolen socks on the feet of the people in the other world; but I dream and cannot wake, and I am cast over the cliff and hang there by two fingers that are danced and trampled on by the giant unreality.

Everyone knows: people who cross boarders do so for a reason.

Time is drowning,Hearts are burning,Heads are rolling,Nothing can save you now,Tick tock, tick tock;Creatures talking,Weak are rising,White Queen’s nearing,Nothing can save you now,Tick tock, tick tock;Cards are bleeding,Crowns are sweating,Tea is spilling,Nothing can save you now,Tick tock, tick tock;Red Queen, here’s your warning,Wonderland’s raging,Alice is coming,Highness, time is drowning,And nothing can save you now,Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock…

We take the names of madmen, because madness is our fate. Terribly melodramatic, that.