A breath of wind from the wings of madness.

I have felt the wind on the wing of madness.

«¡No renuncies jamás a tus sueños, los cuerdos nada saben del sueño admirable de un loco!»

She (his wife) is the wind beneath my wings.

Huge knots of sea-weed hung upon the jagged and pointed stones, trembling in every breath of wind; and the green ivy clung mournfully round the dark and ruined battlements. Behind it rose the ancient castle, its towers roofless, and its massive walls crumbling away, but telling us proudly of its own might and strength, as when, seven hundred years ago, it rang with the clash of arms, or resounded with the noise of feasting and revelry.

You people would convict a grilled cheese sandwich of murder and the people wouldn’t question it.