The problem with mad people is not that they are mad, but that they are suffering from a particular brand of madness that the majority are not.
Madness breeds madness.
Everyone says she’s mad.’‘How do they know?’ I asked.‘Because she’s different from other people, I suppose.’‘Is that being mad?’‘No. Not really, I suppose madness is not seeing things as others see them.
Mad people are very emotionally orientated! They have complex feelings, they’re easily upset, but are also easy to please! Most mad people have lonely lives, as nobody understands them. So they become “Lost Souls.” They dream a lot. Go within their minds to search - some will turn strange, become dangerous. So a madman is created! His world becomes a mission.
There is a madness that is joy, and there is a madness that is just madness.
Men are so inevitably mad that not to be mad would be to give a mad twist to madness.
There was a madness in my story, but it was a madness I understood.
The marvellous logic of the mad which seems to mock that of the logicians because it resembles it so exactly, or rather because it is exactly the same, and because at the secret heart of madness, at the core of so many errors, so many absurdities, so many words and gestures without consequence, we discover, finally, the hidden perfection of a language.
Some are born mad, some achieve madness, and some have madness thrust upon 'em.
When you are mad, mad like this, you don't know it. Reality is what you see. When what you see shifts, departing from anyone else's reality, it's still reality to you.