Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence– whether much that is glorious– whether all that is profound– does not spring from disease of thought– from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect.

Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence.

In the strange anomaly of my existence, feelings with me had never been of the heart, and my passions always were of the mind.

And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the sense?