life is crap but, every day is an experience

It's a curious, wanting thing.

There is no patience so terrible as that of the deranged.

I suppose I really seemed mad, then; but it was only through the awfulness of having said nothing but the truth, and being thought to be deluded.

..this feeling haunts and inhabits me, like a sickness. it covers me, like skin.

We have a name for your disease. We call it a hyper-aesthetic one. You have been encouraged to over-indulge yourself in literature; and have inflamed your organs of fancy.

I've given up reading the papers. Since the world's so obviously bent on killing itself, I decided months ago to sit back and let it.