We are all born mad. Some remain so.

We all are born mad. Some remain so.

I was mad of course and still am, but harmless, I passed for harmless, that's a good one. Not of course that I was really mad, just strange, a little strange, and with every passing year a little stranger, there can be few stranger creatures going about than me at the present day.

No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.

Let me go to hell, that's all I ask, and go on cursing them there, and them look down and hear me, that might take some of the shine off their bliss.

There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.