“My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.”
“It is possible to be truly mad and to still exist upon scraps of life.”
“It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road.”
“Devoid of the poetry of madness.”
“My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for?”
“Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.”