998 Quotes About Madness

There is nothing you wouldn’t do for him, no limits you wouldn’t cross.

Religion is the opium of the People. She had been made to repeat that parrot-wise when she was a child, but since living in England she had come to consider Karl Marx a dull bigot and had started to take an interest in the occult. But Meg's fluttering hands and crazed confession told her that the slogan was true. Religion and the supernatural were drugs: mental poisons to kill reason and create insanity.

Indeed if one had just seen him at the end of the evening with the dusk and the mist of the fenlands close behind him he might have believed that in the dusk and the mist was an army that followed this gay worn confident man. Had the army been there Niv was sane.Had the world accepted that an army was there, still he was sane. But the lonely fancy that had not fact to feed on, nor the fancy of any other for fellowship, was for its loneliness mad.

I have studiously tried to avoid ever using the word 'madness' to describe my condition. Now and again, the word slips out, but I hate it. 'Madness' is too glamorous a term to convey what happens to most people who are losing their minds. That word is too exciting, too literary, too interesting in its connotations, to convey the boredom, the slowness, the dreariness, the dampness of depression.

True, nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am, but why will say that I am mad?! The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute.

How do people know they are sane? Can a person be gripped by lunacy, only to be released a short time later, never to relive the episode again?

(Her husband's departure ...) had picked Mildred up by the hair and dropped her down at the doorstep of insanity.From "Butterfly on F street

The cries of the dead are terrible indeed; you should try not to hear them.

There are nights that the most ingenious torturers could not have invented. We emerge from them in pieces, stupid, dazed, with neither memories nor anticipations, and without even knowing who we are. And it is then that the day seems useless, light pernicious, even more oppressive than the darkness.