Quotes About Mad

Yet if prior to life we had Been able to imagine life, what mad, Impossible, unutterably weird, Wonderful nonsense it might have appeared!

You son of a bitch!' 'What? he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 'You were mad.' 'I wasn't talking about the kiss.' He grinned. 'Does that mean I can do it again?

A mad killer or anything, darling. If you're going to insult our neighbor, let's use proper grammar to do so." Brody

Oh, my God. I can't believe you held back about Ezra. Tell me every last detail right this moment." "You're a bossy bitch." "Damn right I am. Holder backer! You're a holder backer ! Jeez." "That's such a dumb insult, I can't even be mad at it. You have a master's degree, and that's the best you've got?

SnowAngel: I'm going as a mad maddie: a kitten? really? SnowAngel: meeee-ow! mad maddie: HACK HACK HACK HACK HACK

Down the violet wind slid syrinx melodies, wild as foxes, mad as love, strange as wakening.

The mad joy over the prisoners who were saved, had astounded him scarcely less than the mad ferocity against those who were cut to pieces.

Mad people out of number, of course, but they go everywhere where the doors stand open.

I, too, overflow; my desires have invented new desires, my body knows unheard-of songs. Time and again I, too, have felt so full of luminous torrents that I could burst-burst with forms much more beautiful than those which are put up in frames and sold for a stinking fortune. And I, too, said nothing, showed nothing; I didn't open my mouth, I didn't repaint my half of the world. I was ashamed. I was afraid, and I swallowed my shame and my fear. I said to myself: You are mad!

nearly mad before you cleaned

Uh-huh, I said. Because all you mad, evil scientists sit around whipping up batches of Pillsbury's finest during your coffee breaks. I mean, this is pathetic.

If you create something that is asking for people to respond as they're going to respond, you have to allow them to respond as they're going to respond. Some of the people are going to be uninterested and some people are going to be mad for some reason, which is their business. That's just the way the world is.

You think once you've shown what you can do, and your movies have been successful, that snap, you work. So to discover the difference between guys' roles and girls' roles made me plain mad. It's unjust.

San Francisco is a mad city - inhabited for the most part by perfectly insane people whose women are of a remarkable beauty.

Southern women like their men religious and a little mad.

Establishment women just get mad. Activists change the laws.

Celebrity is ridiculous and silly and it's mad that people like me are listened to - you know, rap stars and movie stars.

Singh Is Bling' is a fun, entertaining film. I play a mad, geeky character called Imli. She has no sense of style. I am nothing like her in real life.

Room service is a hard thing to pay for. That's, like, oatmeal for $12? That makes me mad.

I really like playing the bad guy. There are so many more objectives to play when you're mad or villainesque, or when there's some agenda that you have. That's drama, that's where the heart lives. I love playing the bad guy, but especially the bad guy who's still with the girl.

I get very caught up with things. I used to be dominated by domestic things. I had a lovely house in LA-and it became this growing, mad obsession.

The only profit from their sojourn on Earth would be the memory of this mad species, which had somehow become intelligent without ever learning how to understand themselves.

What if the purpose of human charity wasn't to protect the weak -- which seems pretty anti-Darwinian anyway -- but to preserve the mad? Don't they get special treatment in most primitive societies? ( . . .) You have to be careful about who you do away with. It could be that some part of our understanding comes in vessels incapable of sustaining themselves. What do you think? Maybe you'd have to be crazy to think that.

She crouched in the bushes and watched it, a huge horse emerging seared and whole from the sun's eye and passing like a wrecked caravel gaunt-ribbed and black and mad with tattered saddle and dangling stirrups and hoofs clopping softly in the dust and passing enormous and emaciate and inflamed and the sound of it dying down the road to a distant echo of applause in a hall forever empty.