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I'm not good for you. I don't know why you make me want you so bad. I was angry with myself when I said all that earlier. I was mad because I wanted you in a way I'd never experienced before. Before you, I just wanted to excel in football and school. I wanted my parents to be proud of me. But now, I want other things too. You get to me in a way I don't understand
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The bullet is a mad thing, only the bayonet knows what it is about.
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I was so mad you could have boiled a pot of water on my head.
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Sanity, as the project of keeping ourselves recognizably human, therefore has to limit the range of human experience. To keep faith with recognition we have to stay recognizable. Sanity, in other words, becomes a pressing preoccupation as soon as we recognize the importance of recognition. When we define ourselves by what we can recognize, by what we can comprehend- rather than, say, by what we can describe- we are continually under threat from what we are unwilling and/or unable to see. We are tyrannized by our blind spots, and by whatever it is about ourselves that we find unacceptable.
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...Go somewhere else. Somewhere safer.†Anywhere else. God, please. Or he was likely to do something horribly awful, like surrender his sanity and kiss her.
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Every great genius has an admixture of madness.
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Passion does not blind. No. Passion is sanity, and the woman you love, she is the only person you will ever really understand.
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Everybody's always looking for the person they're better than
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I don't know what DVD commentaries are about. I'd like to strangle the person who came up with that concept.
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My mother's a pretty warm, open person.
