madness

Cultivating self-love is an odyssey with moments of difficulty and joy. It's an excursion into knowing ourselves, learning to accept and deal with what we discover... and struggling with our fear of allowing in a little madness to set us free.

My father told me that it is only a mad man that keeps bushy hairs. I asked him, "what about the great men with bushy hairs?". He replied, "education had made them mad, so study to be wise and sane.

It__ maybe impossible to escape (your own head), but I guess the secret is the prison cell just gets bigger and bigger and bigger and prettier and prettier and prettier.

Madness is loving the unsolvable puzzle of your soul and replacing the lost pieces with my own.

It is easy to identify a shallow person by the attention he gives to what will do him absolutely no good.

I want to be loved so badly, it verges on mild insanity.

...wanting what you could not have led to misery and madness.

If you follow the pescribed way of how people want you to be, then it will be of great relieve if you commit suicide than to be dragged along like a donkey.

To be mad is worse than not to be if this is what it is.

Suicides - you read of it_but you don__ know the truth, if you were to see it you would go insane! Cut throats, cut wrists, hangings, suffocating, eyes bulging and tongues protruding, more shit. Suicides always shit themselves, did you know that! Life__ final shit, the final act of madness; smell that you rats! Clean me up you pigs, zip me up in the bag you scum and get me out of here_ Get me the fuck out of here_get me out!

They made us participate in their own madness,because we couldn't help but retrace their steps, rethink their thoughts, and see that none of them led to us.

I often wondered how it would be to tramp off into the mountains and keep going until I was exhausted, then simply sink into the snow and fall asleep. Then the wolves could have me.To want to die in the forest and be eaten by wolves: another marker of incipient madness.

For a torture to be effective, the pain has to be spread out; it has to come at regular intervals, with no end in sight. The water falls , drop after drop after drop, like the second hand of a watch, carving up time. The shock of each individual drop is insignificant, but the sensation is impossible to ignore. At first, one might manage to think about other things, but after five hours, after ten hours, it becomes unendurable. The repeated stimulation excites the nerves to a point where they literally explode, and every sensation in the body is absorbed into that one spot on the forehead---indeed, you come to feel that you are nothing but a forehead, into which a fine needle is being forced millimeter by millimeter. You can__ sleep or even speak, hypnotized by a suffering that is greater than any mere pain. In general, the victim goes mad before a day has passed.

Madness is freedom and some may only perceive its Insanity.

Have only this consolation--that he was never a fiend or even truly a madman, but only an eager, studious, and curious boy whose love of mystery and of the past was his undoing. He stumbled on things no mortal ought ever to know, and reached back through the years as no one ever should reach; and something came out of those years to engulf him.

He remembers how someone _ he forgets who _ once said in a sarcastic tone, __sn__ she just Little Miss Sweetness and Light?_ _ and it was a statement that put him off proposing. It made him seriously reassess his options. He didn__ want to be with someone others saw as overly-moral because he has flaws, he has weaknesses. How would his mistakes compare to her virtuousness? She used to dislike the competitiveness at work, the way she claimed she could never really make friends with anyone because everything was always so fake and cut-throat and he used to berate her for it, used to tell her to accept it, to realise the truth about life and relationships _ but she wouldn__ take it. She was always thinking too hard about everything, always questioning her motives. Surely, if he__ married her, she__ have started questioning his.

Time is not an enemy as such, but a missing person, sending cryptic postcards from the past.

Nearly two years of dates. Still no question. Her mother and father want to set a proper date. Still no question. Her friends keep asking, when, Natasha? When? But she still hasn__ been asked The Question. It__ enjoyable to be the one with all the secrets, but in her honest mind _ the hidden part that__ always sleeping _ the secrets he keeps about when and if give her a feeling inside she__ never really understood completely _ a sensation she had as a child when she got to the end of a fairytale where never-ending love and happiness were all but expected and wondered whether there might be_. one last page.