He found insanity no excuse, however, for irrational behavior.
Brandon SandersonWas it possible that perhaps the most plausible explanation was being offered by someone who anyone with an ounce of sanity would have long ago consigned to the realm of the insane?
Tim HorvathTags: intelligence insanity conversations
Човек може да живее еднакво добре с десет или сто милиона зад гърба си. Защо притежателите им изпитват тоя безумен порив да прибавят още към тях?
Димитър ДимовTags: money insanity greed пари човек алчност димитър димов тютюн морев безумие желание порив
I took a few dragging steps toward the locker-room door. 'You're doing something to me that I wouldn't do to a dog,' I mumbled. 'What you're doing to me is worse than if you were to kill me. You're locking me up in shadows for the rest of my life. You're taking my mind away from me. You're condemning me slowly but surely to madness, to being without a mind. It won't happen right away, but sooner or later, in six months or in a year - Well, I guess that's that.'
I fumbled my way out of the locker room and down the passageway outside, guiding myself with one arm along the wall, and past the sergeant's desk and down the steps, and then I was out in the street.
("All At Once, No Alice")
I put my clothing into the refrigerator and the foods into my wardrobe; am I in love?
Munia KhanTags: love insanity complexity-of-thought
We're authors. We're more than a little unstable.
Megan LinskiDaca schizofrenia este universala, atunci marele artist este cu adevarat cel care sparge zidul schizofrenic, ajungand in patria necunoscuta, acolo unde el nu mai apartine niciunei epoci, niciunui mediu, niciunei scoli.
Gilles DeleuzeTags: art insanity originality creativity genius schizophrenia
You can't argue with insanity. You can stare at it, gaping and incredulous, but arguing with it is futile.
Richelle E. GoodrichTags: insanity futility argue incredible richelle richelle-goodrich
Thinking you might be crazy can drive you crazy.
Karl MarlantesFrom around the corner's edge a grotesque light was trickling out, the first intimations of an ominous sunrise over a dark horizon. I dimly recognized this colored light, though not from my waking memory. It grew more intense, now pouring out in weird streams from beyond the solid margin of the building. And the more intense it grew, the more clearly I could hear the screaming voice that had called out to me in a dream. I shouted his name, but the swelling colored brightness was a field of fear which kept me from making any move toward it. It was no amalgam of colors comparable to anything in mortal experience. It was as if all natural colors had been mutated into a painfully lush iridescence by some prism fantastically corrupted in its form; it was a rainbow staining the sky after a poison deluge; it was an aurora painting the darkness with a blaze of insanity, a blaze that did not burn vigorously but shimmered with an insect-jeweled frailness. And, in actuality, it was nothing like these color-filled effusions, which are merely a feeble means of partially fixing a reality uncommunicable to those not initiated to it, a necessary resorting to the makeshift gibberish of the mystic isolated by his experience and left without a language to describe it.
("The Dreaming In Nortown")
Tags: insanity light color colour
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