Everyone is more or less mad on one point.

Sometimes accidents happen in life from which we have need of a little madness to extricate ourselves successfully

Here's an object more of dread Than aught the grave contains- A human form with reason fled, While wretched life remains.

The great proof of madness is the disproportion of one's designs to one's means.

Men are so necessarily mad, that not to be mad would amount to another form of madness.

Whom Fortune wishes to destroy she first makes mad.

A body seriously out of equilibrium, either with itself or with its environment, perishes outright. Not so a mind. Madness and suffering can set themselves no limit.

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet Are of imagination all compact.

In the twentieth century, the repellent, harrowing disease that is made the index of a superior sensitivity, the vehicle of "spiritual" feelings and "critical" discontent, is insanity.

When we remember that we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained.