“The beloved's innocencebrutalizes the lover.As the singing of a mad personbehind you on the trainenrages you,its beautifulanimal-like teethshining amid black planesof paint.As Helenenrages history.Senza uscita.”

“Never be ashamed of madness, instead be ashamed of people that are ashamed of madness. Without a little bit of insanity, we would have never had the Theory of Relativity, electricity, airplanes, cars or your beloved iPhone. Madness got you that.”

“We passed a street minstrel who was singing in one of the more obscure Eastern languages, and I dropped a few orbs into his instrument case."Boss, was he singing what I thought he was singing?""A young man tells his beloved of his love for her."" 'My little hairy testicle—' ""It's a cultural thing, Loiosh. You wouldn't understand.”

“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.”

“It's as if there's a landscape - we'll call it childhood - which exists in our mind. It's completely familiar. Unspeakably familiar. Until in the middle of the night, when the sky is blackest, lightning cracks through the firmament. And in that crush of sound, amid the madness and the blinding flash, you see your world: home, trees, rooftops, your own hand, in an entirely new way. Illumined by fire. Flashed for half a second and then gone. And it's that image, that savage, rip-through-the-curtain vision, that lingers. Not the reality you see every day. Not the world you walk around in. No, it's that spookhouse glimpse, the scorching peek through the blackness, that stays in the brain.”

“it's black and beautiful, bright and open...it's beauty won't end...just like you!”