You're insane!"
"I won't argue that point.

Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage.

Insane people give me hope."
"What!!!!" I almost dropped my beer.
"The insane have decided to stay on," Crumley said. "They love life so much that, rather than destroy it, they go behind a self-made wall to hide. Pretend not to hear, but the do hear. Pretend not to see, but see. Insanity says: I hate living but love life. Hate the rules but do like me. So, rather than drop in graves, I hide out. Not in liquor, nor in bed under sheets, nor in a needle's prick or snuffs of white powder, but in madness. On my own shelf, in my own rafters, under my own silent roof. So, yeah, insane people give me hope. Courage to go on being sand and alive, always with the cure at hand, should I ever tire and need it: madness.

You learned to accept, or you ended up in a small room writing letters home with Crayolas.

Was insanity really easier to accept than unconsciousness?

It's lack that gives us inspiration. It's not fullness.