I feel an indescribable ecstasy and delirium in melting, as it were, into the system of being, in identifying myself with the whole of nature.
Underneath all reason lies delirium and drift.
Now I'd rather be infected with love for the tiniest sliver of a second than live a hundred years smothered by a lie.
There is in every madman a misunderstood genius whose idea, shining in his head, frightened people, and for whom delirium was the only solution to the strangulation that life had prepared for him.
I know that the whole point—the only point—is to find the things that matter, and hold on to them, and fight for them, and refuse to let them go.
Life creates itself in delirium and is undone in ennui.
There is no art without intoxication. But I mean a mad intoxication! Let reason teeter! Delirium!
I know what the problem is, of course. The disorientation, the distraction, the difficulty focusing - all classic Phase One signs of deliria. But I don't care. If pneumonia felt this good I'd stand out in the snow in the winter with bare feet and no coat, or march into the hospital and kiss pneumonia patients
I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.
Paranoiac-critical activity makes the world of delirium pass onto the plane of reality.
The deadliest of all deadly things: It kills you both when you have it and when you don’t.
Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge. That's what it is: an edge; a razor. It draws up through the center of your life, cutting everything in two. Before and after. The rest of the world falls away on either side.
Slums may well be breeding grounds of crime, but middle class suburbs are incubators of apathy and delirium.
I am a night painter, so when I come into the studio the next morning the delirium is over.
That’s what the human brain is there for—to turn the chaos of given experience into a set of manageable symbols. Sometimes the symbols correspond fairly closely to some of the aspects of the external reality behind our experience; then you have science and common sense. Sometimes, on the contrary, the symbols have almost no connection with external reality; then you have paranoia and delirium. More often there’s a mixture, part realistic and part fantastic; that’s religion.
I'd rather die on my own terms than live on theirs. I'd rather die loving Alex than live without him.
Love: It will kill you and save you, both
To hell with reality! I want to die in music, not in reason or in prose.
It's so strange how life works: You want something and you wait and wait and feel like it's taking forever to come. Then it happens and it's over and all you want to do is curl back up in that moment before things changed.
Sometimes I feel like if you just watch things, just sit still and let the world exist in front of you - sometimes I swear that just for a second time freezes and the world pauses in its tilt. Just for a second. And if you somehow found a way to live in that second, then you would live forever.
The thing about delirium is you think it's great, but it actually isn't.
Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge.
I love you. Remember. They cannot take it
Do you know why I stopped being Delight, my brother? I do. There are things not in your book. There are paths outside this garden.
It will kill me, it will kill me, it will kill me. And I don't care.
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