Quotes About Madness

In the Savage Garden you shine beautifully, my friend. You walk as if it is your garden to do with as you please. And in my wanderings, I always return to you. I always return to see the colours of the garden in your shadow, or reflected in your eyes, perhaps, or to hear of your latest follies and mad obsessions.

You are on the verge of being truly mad. -No, not at all. Look at me. I can tie my shoelaces. See?

You're the mad one,' I said. 'If you could see yourself, hear your own voice, your music - which of course you play for yourself - you wouldn't see darkness, Nicki. You'd see an illumination that is all your own. Sombre, yes, but light and beauty come together in you in a thousand different patterns.

But I still did not realize how mad she was, and how accustomed to dreaming; and that she would not cry out for reality, rather would feed reality to her dreams, a demon elf feeding her spinning wheel with the reeds of the world so she might make her own weblike universe.

But I still did not realize how mad she was, and how accustomed to dreaming; and that she would not cry out for reality, rather would feed reality to her dreams

Pamper the mad man.

Don't make a religion of reason and logic. Because in the passage of time reason may fail you and when it does, you may find yourself taking refuge in madness.

I don't need to sleep to play. I'm crazy anyway. Being crazier still could only help.

You are the pure embodiment of madness.

I explained that often when we revealed ourselves to mortals we drove them mad—for we were unnatural beings, and yet we did not know anything about the existence of God or the Devil. In sum, we were like a religious vision without revelation. A mystic experience, but without a core of truth.

Symphony of malice, symphony of madness coming through the walls, philosophy straining to contain the ghastly images, the torture, to surround it with language Ã¢â'¬Â¦

Dead. things, dead things. . . I said. Come no closer. Talking of madness and love, in this reeking place! And that old monster, Magnus, locking them up in his dungeon. How did he love them, his captives? The way boys love butterflies when they rip off their wings!

And my worst problem was laughter. I would go into fits of laughter and I couldn't stop. Anything could set me off. The sheer madness of my own position might set me off. This can still happen to me fairly easily. No loss, no pain, no deepening understanding of my predicament changes it. Something strikes me as funny. I begin to laugh and I can't stop.

Maybe I was going mad. There had been enough pain for it and enough magic; there had been enough hunger, and enough blood.

went on, sweet, and demure, and winding to a compassionate finale. I know your pain. I know. But madness isn't for you. It never was. You're the one who never goes mad.

thought of themselves as Irish, often making remarks to that effect; and that they emerged in the consciousness of many who knew them—servants and peers alike—as almost stereotypically Irish in their madness and eccentricity and penchant for the morbid. Several critics of the family have called them "raving Irish loonies.

I could see the dim figure of my double forming behind Lestat. I could see Goblin, designed as I was designed. I could see the crazed smile on his face.

the city interface didn't care why people were talking about you—because you were talented or merely beautiful, ingenious or just crazy, concerned about the planet or outraged over nothing at all

A bit of the vagueness of music stops you going completely mad, I imagine.

If you're mad enough to have killed a dozen people you're mad enough to be a fraction impatient. Surely?

He tried to sleep, but his head was filled with the faces of lunatics, their palsied hands, their shattered eyes.

Seorang manusia telah mati. Tetapi dunia di luar sana terus berputar seperti tidak terjadi apa-apa. Adakah yang lebih gila daripada ini? Inikah yang namanya mati sebagai martir? Kenapa kau diam saja? Lelaki bermata satu itu mati - untukmu. Kau seharusnya tahu. Kenapa keheningan ini terus berlanjut? Keheningan tengah hari. Dengung lalat-lalat - kegilaan ini, peristiwa kejam ini. Tetapi kau memalingkan muka seperti tak peduli.

Like madness is the glory of this life.

Whoever wants to know how it's all going to end before it actually does? Only poets and madmen, I would think.