Sanity Quotes - Page 2

I was sane once. It was horrible.

Are not the sane and the insane equal at night as the sane lie a dreaming?

Yet mad I am not...and very surely do I not dream.

In any sane society, a farmer is a billion times more important than an economist.

All sanity depends on this: that it should be a delight to feel the roughness of a carpet under smooth soles, a delight to feel heat strike the skin, a delight to stand upright, knowing the bones are moving easily under the flesh.

Inside every sane person there's a madman struggling to get out," said the shopkeeper. "That's what I've always thought. No one goes mad quicker than a totally sane person.

I wonder if being sane means disregarding the chaos that is life, pretending only an infinitesimal segment of it is reality.

Then he heard a wild, high-pitched cackling that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. It wasn't sane, that laugh. In fact, it was the laughter of someone who never had more than a nodding acquaintance with sanity.

The reason we feel alienated is because the society is infantile, trivial, and stupid. So the cost of sanity in this society is a certain level of alienation. I grapple with this because I’m a parent. And I think anybody who has children, you come to this realization, you know—what’ll it be? Alienated, cynical intellectual? Or slack-jawed, half-wit consumer of the horseshit being handed down from on high? There is not much choice in there, you see. And we all want our children to be well adjusted; unfortunately, there’s nothing to be well adjusted to!

I have treated many artists. There are among them many neurotics, so many that one finally comes to believe that one cannot be an artist without being neurotic. Again I found in them that inner conflict which is characteristic of modern man: the conflict between a right intuition (namely, that their vocation has fundamental importance for the destiny of humanity) and a false idea (namely, that art is superfluous luxury).

I was back in disgust. I stood in the centre of the big room, naked, letting the heat strike me from the three points of heat, and I knew, and it was an illumination — one of those things one has always known, but never really understood before — that all sanity depends on this: that it should be a delight to feel the roughness of a carpet under smooth soles, a delight to feel heat strike the skin, a delight to stand upright, knowing the bones are moving easily under flesh. If this goes, then the conviction of life goes too. But I could feel none of this. The texture of the carpet was abhorrent to me, a dead processed thing; my body was a thin, meagre, spiky sort of vegetable, like an unsunned plant; and when I touched the hair on my head it was dead. I felt the floor bulge up under me. The walls were losing their density. I knew I was moving down into a new dimension, further away from sanity than I had ever been. I knew I had to get to the bed fast. I could not walk, so I let myself down on my hands and knees and crawled to the bed and lay on it, covering myself.

Too much sanity may be madness — and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!

What's the difference between sanity and madness anyway? We all play headgames with ourselves. We all have baggage. We all cope somehow. I'm not sure if I'm mad or sane. I mean, I hold my life together, I pay my bills, I raise my kids. But the world is so polarized and bizarre now that for some people, none of these these things matter if they're not wearing the right shoes or don't have the right credit score or a fancy family car. Some people think the most important things to worry about are handbags and tan lines. Meanwhile, war and crime and poverty unfold all around us, and we ignore it. In that environment, how can we even begin to talk about sanity and madness?

It might come a time to not follow your passion, so to speak, although it must be prioritized. It may be the case that your passion will serve as the medic, your peace of mind, alongside a higher calling, with your higher calling being the point man.

Conventions are, indeed, all that shield us from the shivering void, though often they do so but poorly and desperately.

Worse than madness. Sanity.

Compared to bipolar's magic, reality seems a raw deal. It's not just the boredom that makes recovery so difficult, it's the slow dawning pain that comes with sanity - the realization of illnesss, the humiliating scenes, the blown money and friendships and confidence. Depression seems almost inevitable. The pendulum swings back from transcendence in shards, a bloody, dangerous mess. Crazy high is better than crazy low. So we gamble, dump the pills, and stick it to the control freaks and doctors. They don't understand, we say. They just don't get it. They'll never be artists.

That millions of people share the same forms of mental pathology does not make these people sane.

What slave work do you want me to do for you?” asked Diogenes when he had been bought.“Be a teacher to my children,” answered Xeniades with the insanity that matched the wisdom of Diogenes.

If you think people in your life are normal, then you undoubtedly have not spent any time getting to know the abnormal side of them.

Individual insanity is immune to the consequences of collective insanity

But how sane can the mind really be if it doesn't even know its own depth?

Art has always been the raft onto which we climb to save our sanity. I don't see a different purpose for it now.

A difference between the sane and the insane is not just about appearance or attitude but the usage of time.

Boredom is probably more frequent and more tormenting if you do not have sight or hands.

No man is sane who does not know how to be insane on the proper occasions."Henry Ward Beecher

The human race will last. Everywhere and forever, for it will never be sane and only insanity is divine. Only the mad destroy themselves and all they have wrought.And only the phoenix lives forever.

I will scream as the sanity leaves my mind forever. I will scream...but there is no one there to hear me.

To maintain any degree of sanity, we must believe that everything is interconnected on some level and to experience that level fully once in a while.

When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.

I would much rather have my grotesque products of the imagination compared to your delusional sanity.

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.

Sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind,” she said with a hintof sadness.“You lost your mind a long time ago,” he said seriously. She looked at him with indignation. “That’s a compliment for anyone who knows the freedom and clarity of losing their mind,” he reaffirmed her.

The hardest thing for a sane person to do is not care what anyone thinks, although everyone swears by it, hence our glorification of insanity.

I lie on the floor, washed by nothing and hanging on. I cry at night. I am afraid of hearing voices, or a voice. I have come to the edge, of the land. I could get pushed over.

You aren’t crazy,’ he says. ‘What?’ ‘I’ve known you all your life, and you’ve always tried to hide the parts of yourself that you think are wrong. But nothing is wrong with you.’ Those may be the best words he’s ever said to me.

You must firmly, absolutely and ruthlessly protect your safety and sanity.

The world brazenly touts freedom as both the inalienable right and morally liberating justification to mindlessly play in the filth that lies all around me. And the slight bit of sanity that yet remains within me asks, ‘what raging madness would prompt me to incessantly wallow in the very things that will eventually swallow me?

Sane people did what their neighbors did, so that if any lunatics were at large, one might know and avoid them.

Persistence. Perfection. Patience. Power. Prioritize your passion. It keeps you sane.

The sole difference between myself and a madman is the fact that I am not mad!

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

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

Once people get hung up on theology, they've lost sanity forever. More people have been killed in the name of Jesus Christ than any other name in the history of the world.

I really believe," said Wanda thoughtfully,"that your madness is nothing but a demonic, unsatisfied sensuality. Our unnatural way of life must generate such illnesses. Were you less virtuous, you would be completely sane.

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.

[Solitary confinement] is terrible. That is terrible. You're in a grave. You can't do anything. Everything's brought to you and you're in a room all day, except to come out of the showers. So when I would come out, I would entertain myself by singing, doing little mock concerts. And then when I was in the room, I would develop a routine. Like I have a lot of hair under here, so I would take my hair down and take all day to braid it on purpose. Stretch the hours out. Then I might write. And I would clean the floor. And I would look out the window. And then I'd devote a whole day to just reading. I was Christian then, trying to be. So I would read the whole Bible. I would break it down into sections. You're in a grave and you're trying to live. That's how to best describe it: trying to live in a grave. You're trying to live 'cause you're not dead yet, but nobody hears you when you call out, 'Hey, I'm alive!

I can't get his bonesto go down the fucking drain.I try to stuff the tiny holes,too tiny for this pain.I can't get his bonesto break any way for my gain.Break them back a little too far,never too far for the sake of sane.

So we gave the afternoon some sanity after all and I wonder, Uncle Andrew, is life sane, as we tried to make it? Or is it insanity, as it was yesterday on the Gerard plantation? And why don't more people try to make it sane?Or if it is full of sanity for them, why do they try to rip that sanity to pieces and impose their form of insanity? Can you help me understand?

The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane.

Was everybody seeing this stuff and acting as though they weren't? Was insanity just a matter of dropping the act?

WHO AM I?I have seven heavenly panelsLeading up to a pointed sphereI’m multidimensional like a crystalAnd my center is never clear.I’m an inventor and pioneer.A mentor to my peers.But I'm not as sound as my shell reveals,Because I’m tormented by my fears -That may appear to be groundedBut my insides are filled with tears.And the sadness is well-founded,From years and yearsOf traumatic experiencesCompoundedIn the most dementedAtmospheres.I talk but feel like nobody hears.Has reason disappeared?And, God, are you near?This is Giza’s 7th light forceAnd I'm asking you to interfere.I can no longer walk amongst the blind and deadWith open eyes and ears.I’m trying to maintain my sanityAnd to straighten up my veneerAs I roll amongst the growing calamitiesFlowing on Earth’s severely trashedFrontier.Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun (2010)

Insanity is often the logic of an accurate mind overtasked. Good mental machinery ought to break its own wheels and levers, if anything is thrust among them suddenly which tends to stop them or reverse their motion. A weak mind does not accumulate force enough to hurt itself; stupidity often saves a man from going mad.

Melancholy suicide. —This is connected with a general state of extreme depression and exaggerated sadness, causing the patient no longer to realize sanely the bonds which connect him with people and things about him. Pleasures no longer attract;

That all men are equal is a proposition which at ordinary times no sane individual has ever given his assent.

Blood and wine are interchangeable. Love and hate are unrecognizable. Sanity is no longer with me.

The history of your world is filled with the voice of the victor, the voice of power, although it was not always a voice of sanity, by any means.

Now this is the point. You fancy me a mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded...

A society, on occasion, can be the worst possible describer of mental health.