I am not mad: I would to God I were, for then ’tis like I should forget myself.
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.
How many prisoners in solitary confinement become idiots, if not mad, for want of exercise for the thinking faculty![Que de prisonniers cellulaires devenus imbéciles, sinon fous, par le défaut d’exercice des facultés pensantes.]
Every one is more or less mad on one point.
Even if one understands that what one is doing is mad, it is indeed still madness.
Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.
All extremes of feeling are allied to madness.
A person needs a little madness, or else they never dare cut the rope and be free.
A madman is one who considers himself sane and thinks that fools don’t belong in his rank.
A madman in particular has always a very strong reason for the crimes he commits.
A great many men are mad, and no one knows it. They do not know it themselves.
A genius is a form of madness, and we’re all that way.
