I'm not so sure he's mad, Father. Just a little devious in his sanity.
I'm not so sure he's mad, Father. Just a little devious in his sanity.
He never denied it. He never did anything. He never acted like either a nigger or a white man. That was it. That was what made the folks so mad.
Everyone has to go mad, it's essential fir everyone to go mad - as soon as possible! It's essential - I know.
I may be mad, he thought, but I prefer the shit of this world to whatever sweet ambrosias the next may offer.
Sweet, crazy conversations full of half sentences, daydreams and misunderstandings more thrilling than understanding could ever be.
All extremes of feeling are allied with madness.
Perhaps I am too tame, too domestic a magician. But how does one work up a little madness? I meet with mad people every day in the street, but I never thought before to wonder how they got mad. Perhaps I should go wandering on lonely moors and barren shores. That is always a popular place for lunatics - in novels and plays at any rate. Perhaps wild England will make me mad.
So that's who Finnick loves, I think. Not his string of fancy lovers in the Capitol. But a poor, mad girl back home.
I know he was desperate. That makes people do all kinds of crazy things.
People who try hard to do the right thing always seem mad.
Would you please tell me what you are thinking? Before I go mad?
Keep in mind that I'm crazy, won't you?
I wanted to laugh. Or maybe get mad. Or maybe shrug at how strange everyone was, especially me.
It's like when you're excited about a girl and you see a couple holding hands, and you feel so happy for them. And other times you see the same couple, and they make you so mad. And all you want is to feel happy for them because you know that if you do, then it means you're happy, too.
Even the company of the mad was better than the company of the dead.
Then it was that there came into my head the first of the mad notions that contributed so much to saving our lives.
Flirting with madness was one thing; when madness started flirting back, it was time to call the whole thing off.
She sometimes thought she was going crazy. Her first thought when she woke up was always how to get him out of her thoughts. And she would keep watch, hoping to see him next door, while plotting ways to never have to see him again.
Call it crazy, or just chicken salad.
I suppose I really seemed mad, then; but it was only through the awfulness of having said nothing but the truth, and being thought to be deluded.
If we're mad, we're mad in large numbers, at least larger than yours.
I can't help but smile as I swipe a lone tear trailing down my cheek. How can I not be crazy in love with this guy? Time away from him didn't change anything. I can't deny him another chance. That would be denying myself.
Madame Guillotine gets mad at me. Not because I told them to shove it, but because I didn't say it in French. What is wrong with this school?
I'd accepted a while ago that there were too many reasons for me to even think about him romantically anymore. Every once in a while, I slipped a little and kind of wished he would too. It'd have been nice to know that he still wanted me, that I still drove him crazy. Studying him now, I realized he might not ever slip because I didn't drive him crazy anymore. It was a depressing thought.
People who are crazy rarely question whether they're crazy.
You did what you did out of love. I can't be mad at you over that. It was stupid, but that's how love is. Do you have any idea what I'd do for you? To keep you safe?
Number eight, the silver one, belongs to Artemis. She vowed to be a maiden forever. So of course, no kids. The cabin is, you know, honorary. If she didn't have one, she'd be mad.
Back up shall we? When my brother, the crazy chicken warrior, turned into a falcon and went up the pyramid's chimney with his new friend, the fruit bat, he left me playing nurse to two very wounded people-which I didn't appreciate, and which I wasn't particularly good at.
The desert is a capricious lady, and sometimes she drives men crazy.
Be crazy! But learn how to be crazy without being the center of attention. Be brave enough to live different.
Collective madness is called sanity ..
The moon was gone, but to the magician's eyes the unicorn was the moon, cold and white and very old, lighting his way to safety, or to madness.
If you had your way you'd pass a law to abolish all the little jobs, the little things. But then you'd leave yourselves nothing to do between the big jobs and you'd have a devil of a time thinking up things to do so you wouldn't go crazy. Instead of that, why not let nature show you a few things? Cutting grass and pulling weeds can be a way of life, son.
I'm seventeen and I'm crazy. My uncle says the two always go together. When people ask your age, he said, always say seventeen and insane.
I mean, maybe I am crazy. I mean, maybe. But is this is all there is, then I don't want to be sane.
The only ones who ever come here from your lands are the minstrels, and the lovers, and the mad. And you don't look like much of a minstrel, and you're- pardon me for saying so lad, but it's true- ordinary as cheese crumbs. So it's love if you ask me.
You just have to smile and take it, otherwise it would drive you mad.
I know, you've been here a year, you think these people are normal. Well, they're not. WE'RE not. I look in the library, I call up books on my desk. Old ones, because they won't let us have anything new, but I've got a pretty good idea what children are, and we're not children. Children can lose sometimes, and nobody cares. Children aren't in armies, they aren't COMMANDERS, they don't rule over forty other kids, it's more than anybody can take and not get crazy.
I'm alone. And I'm crying. And no one is coming to the crib. And the nightlight has burned out. And I'm mad. I'm so mad. Left frontal lobe. I...I...I don't feel so good. Left occipital lobe. I... don't remember where...Left parietal lobe. I...I...I can't remember my name,but...but...Right temporal...but I'm still here. Right frontal. I'm still here... Right occipital.I'm still...Right parietal. I'm...Cerebellum. I'm...Thalamus. I...Hypothalamus. I...Hippocampus...Medulla........................
We don't recognize each other because other people have become our permanent mirrors. If we actually realized this, if we were able to become aware of the fact that we are only ever looking at ourselves in the other person, that we are alone in the wilderness, we would go crazy.
Culture is perishing in overproduction, in an avalanche of words, in the madness of quantity.
His dreams had always been Houdiniesque: they were the dreams of a pupa struggling in its blind cocoon, mad for a taste of light and air.
I Can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow.
Grace reached over and began stroking her fingers through my hair. I closed my eyes and let her drive me crazy.
The coldest most rational scientific madness is also the most intolerable. But when a man has acquired a certain ability to subsist, even rather scantily, in a certain niche with the help of a few grimaces, he must either keep at it or resign himself to dying the death of a guinea pig. Habits are acquired more quickly than courage, especially the habit of filling one's stomach.
Eccentricty had flowered into madness.
Those whom God wishes to destroy he drives mad.
We're all mad here. Im mad. You're mad
I'm not strange, weird, off, nor crazy, my reality is just different from yours.
Okay, so she is crazy. I don't care. I think I love her.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories