Quotes About Madness

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.

Pero existirá la libertad sin el permiso previo de la locura

Madness borders the cruelest good sense.

Diga-me por favor que horas são para eu saber que estou vivendo nesta hora. A criatividade é desencadeada por um germe e eu não tenho hoje esse germe mas tenho incipiente a loucura que em si mesma é criação válida. Nada mais tenho a ver com a validez das coisas. Estou liberta ou perdida.

Am I one of the weak? a weak woman possessed by incessant and mad rhythm? if I were solid and strong would I even have heard the rhythm? I find no answer: I am.

E quero aceitar minha liberdade sem pensar o que muito acham: que existir é coisa de doido, caso de loucura. Porque parece. Existir não é lógico.

What would a person say to himself in the madness of sincerity? But it would be salvation. Thought the terror of sincerity comes from the part of the shadows that connect me to the world and to the creating unconscious of the world. Today is a night with many stars in the sky. It stopped raining.

Este é um livro fresco – recém-saído do nada. Escrevo para nada e para ninguém. Inspiração não é loucura. É Deus. A impessoalidade é uma condição. A loucura é a tentação de ser totalmente o poder. Pois também eu solto as minhas amarras: mato o que me perturba. Escrevo para me livrar da carga difícil de uma pessoa ser ela mesma.

Maybe I have merely undergone a great, slow disintegration. And my struggle against that disintegration is just that: is just trying to give it a form. A form gives contours to chaos, gives a construct to amorphous substance… the vision of an infinite flesh is a madman's vision, but if I cut that flesh into pieces and spread those pieces over days and famines… then it will no longer be perdition and madness: it will be humanized life again.

I am not mad out of solidarity with the thousands of us who, in order to construct the possible, also sacrificed the truth which would be a madness.

We don't call a man mad who believes that he eats God, but we do the one who says he is Jesus Christ.

Everyday I discover more and more beautiful things. It's enough to drive one mad. I have such a desire to do everything, my head is bursting with it.

Forgiveness, I finally decide, is not the death of amnesia, nor is it a form of madness, as Derrida claims. For the one who forgives, it is simply a death, a dying down in the heart, the position of the already dead. It is in the end the living through, the understanding that this has happened, is happening, happens. Period. It is a feeling of nothingness that cannot be communicated to another, an absence, a bottomless vacancy held by the living, beyond all that is hatred or love.

What is the use of being moral in a night-cellar, or wise in Bedlam? —WILLIAM HAZLITT,

If you succeed as I did, in sublimating the sexual drive and putting it in the service of heaven knows what mortifying joy or egalitarian madness, you will see the furious flower of jealousy stripped of its thorns, along with the condign egotism of the human couple.

Literature boils with the madcap careers of writers brought to the edge by the demands of living on their nerves, wringing out their memories and their nightmares to extract meaning, truth, beauty.

Human madness is oftentimes a cunning and most feline thing. When you think it fled, it may have but become transfigured into still subtler form.

For there is no folly of the beast of the earth which is not infinitely outdone by the madness of men.

There is a wisdom that is woe; but there is a woe that is madness. And there is a Catskill eagle in some souls that can alike dive down into the blackest gorges, and soar out of them again and become invisible in the sunny spaces. And even if he for ever flies within the gorge, that gorge is in the mountains; so that even in his lowest swoop the mountain eagle is still higher than other birds upon the plain, even though they soar.

Human madness is oftentimes a cunning and most feline thing. When you think it fled, it may have but become transfigured into some still subtler form.

As long as he deceived himself about the truth, he could blame fortune and have confidence in the future. Now the clouds of madness were closing round his mind.

Are we, then, insane because we have not gone mad?

No eyes will raise to heaven. The pure will be thought insane and the impure will be honoured as wise. The madman will be believed brave, and the wicked esteemed as good.

This, she told herself, was the beginning of madness. The mind becoming the flesh for its own teeth.