I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence– whether much that is glorious– whether all that is profound– does not spring from disease of thought– from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect.
Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence.
Yet, mad am I not — and very surely do I not dream.
Now this is the point. You fancy me a mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded.
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