The soul is innocent and immortal, it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse.
I can't sleep with you tonight, baby, my head's all messed up, you've no idea. It's somewhere else and it's full of voices and songs and bad things.
Madness is a kind of mental suicide.
Why is it that all those who have become eminent in philosophy, politics, poetry, or the arts are clearly of an atrabilious temperament and some of them to such an extent as to be affected by diseases caused by black bile?
Gentleman, you have come sixty days too late. The depression is over.
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