To stay sane in a mad world is the real victory.
O God, I love you to the edge of madness, Venetia, but I’m not mad yet–not so mad that I don’t know how disastrous it might be to you–to us both! You don’t realize what an advantage I should be taking of your innocence!
If you think that I am mad now, then take away my books, and you’ll find I’ve completely gone insane!
I swear that each of us keeps, battened down inside himself, a sort of lunatic giant – impossible socially, but full-scale – and that it’s the knockings and baterrings we sometimes hear in each other that keeps our intercourse from utter banaility.
What frightened me most was, I could no longer believe in my own life as a story. Everyone needs a story, a part to play in order to avoid the realization that life is without significance. How else do any of us survive? It’s what makes life bearable, even interesting. When it becomes neither, people say you’ve lost the plot. Or just lost it.
At the edge of madness you howl diamonds and pearls.
precious laughing time is wasted, because I have to put up with Satan’s stupid minions who smile without attempting to anger somebody else – leave us alone already.
I turned to Dionysus. “You cured him?”
“Madness is my specialty. It was quite simple.”
“But…you did something nice. Why?”
He raised and eyebrow. “I am nice! I simple ooze niceness, Perry Johansson. Haven’t you noticed?
Ever see moors murderer Ian Brady, study his photos, study Black, study Cannon, study Sutcliffe – study them all! Who says evil is not recognisable?
That night I slept badly, thrashing about in my bed, not quite asleep and not quite awake. At times I had the feeling there was someone else in my bedroom who was talking to me, but of course I could not deal with this perception in any realistic way, since I was half-asleep and half-awake, and thus, for all practical purposes, I was out of my mind.