Sanity is simply the ability of the mind to adjust to reality. If we can’t adjust, we either hide from reality, or we put our selves above life, where we’re super-beings who don’t have to follow the rules.
Sanity is a valuable possession; I hoard it the way people once hoarded money. I save it, so I will have enough, when the time comes.
The mountains of madness have many little plateaus of sanity.
The distinction between sanity and insanity is narrower than the razor’s edge, sharper than a hound’s tooth, more agile than a mule deer. It is more elusive than the merest phantom. Perhaps it does not even exist; perhaps it is a phantom.
Sometimes I think it aint none of us pure crazy and aint none of us pure sane until the balance of us talks him that-a-way. It’s like it aint so much what a fellow does, but it’s the way the majority of folks is looking at him when he does it.
Sanity is the one unbelievable bore. One must be mad – deliciously mad – perverted – slightly twisted – then one sees life from a new and entrancing angle.
Sanity is not statistical.
Sanity and happiness are an impossible combination.
Did I do anything last night that suggested I was sane?
