My mental malady began last winter. An abominallo winter! During that horrible season, when the cold paralyzes one like fear, I felt suddenly something strange within me.Narrator
How many times have I not wished to kill myself! Yet I am afraid. And then, I want to live after all! Yes, I feel this. But I want to live in the clouds, in the fantastic world of my dreams.Narrator
Not only was I alone, quite alone in this crowd, but I was even a stranger, a poor creature fallen from heaven or from some other place.Narrator
To wander all over the place without a roof over one’s head, through the wind, the rain, the snow, driven away by the words 'Move on! Move on!' This is horrible!Narrator
I feel in myself an intense and insatiate need to live one of those visionary adventures invented by impulsive novelists, an impossible poetic adventure of which every episode would be an inexhaustible source of youthful joy.Narrator
I made gestures, appealed to Heaven, spoke aloud, cried out in my madness. The echoes of my voice, returning to me, brought me back to myself.Narrator
Suddenly I heard behind me a murmuring as of wind in the trees. I turned round. It was the darkened heavens letting fall upon the world a deluge of fire and blood.Narrator
Madness is a dreadful night, a terrible, endless night; and sleeplessness, dreadful sleeplessness, fills this night, where darkness is not interrupted even by the joyless and unwelcome gleams of dreams.Narrator
My thoughts fly from my head with a buzzing—it is as though my skull had a thousand winged creatures in it.Narrator
Mankind and the universe were made to be the dream of poets; they have but one reality, which is ideal. If we were wise we would see in the appearance of each day only the concealed picture of the charming illusions of our sleep.Narrator