We all are born mad. Some remain so.

We are all born mad. Some remain so.

I was mad of course and still am, but harmless, I passed for harmless, that's a good one. Not of course that I was really mad, just strange, a little strange, and with every passing year a little stranger, there can be few stranger creatures going about than me at the present day.

No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.

There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.

The old endless chain of love, tolerance, indifference, aversion and disgust