We all talk to ourselves. Those we call mad just talk a little louder.

Successful writing is a slow, daily, meticulous form of mental illness.

God's creatures who cried themselves to sleep stirred to cry again.

The bravest thing I ever did was continuing my life when I wanted to die.

Sometimes the world is so much sicker than the inmates of its institutions.

They called me mad, and I called them mad, and damn them, they outvoted me.

Mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of, but stigma and bias shame us all.

It can't have been fun to live with somebody whose brain was under siege.

A nightmare has taken hold of my body. Lunacy has dug its way inside my mind.

Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure still

...men aren't in touch with their emotions, and don't share enough [?]

A sick thought can devour the body's flesh more than fever or consumption.

Except you cannot outrun insanity, anymore than you can outrun your own shadow.

To not have your suffering recognized is an almost unbearable form of violence.

J'ai des papillons noirs tous les jours (I have black butterflies every day)