“O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven; keep me in temper; I would not be mad!”
“i'm going mad, i told myself. let me not be mad.”
“Let me be mad, then, by all means! mad with the madness of Absinthe, the wildest, most luxurious madness in the world! Vive la folie! Vive l'amour! Vive l'animalisme! Vive le Diable!”
“I'm not mad, Mason. I am crushed. Acting mad makes it easier to deal with than letting it rip me apart.”
“They called me mad, and I called them mad, and damn them, they outvoted me.”
“Thy shrunk voice sounds too calmly, sanely woeful to me. In no Paradise myself, I am impatient of all misery in others that is not mad. Thou should’st go mad, blacksmith; say, why dost thou not go mad? How can’st thou endure without being mad? Do the heavens yet hate thee, that thou can’st not go mad?”