Somebody’s boring me; I think it’s me.
He who hath not a dram of folly in his mixture hath pounds of much worse matter.
No man is quite sane. Each has a vein of folly in his composition – a slight determination of blood to the head, to make sure of holding him hard to some one point which he has taken to heart.
All mankind is one of these two cowards: to wish to die when he should live, to wish to live when he should die.
Today I felt pass over me A breath of wind from the wings of madness.
Most men are within a finger’s breadth of being mad.
The madman who knows that he is mad is close to sanity.
Great wits are sure to madness near allied And thin partitions do their bounds divide.
People have a hard time letting go of their suffering. Out of a fear of the unknown, they prefer suffering that is familiar.
There is only one difference between a madman and me. I am not mad.
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