Jeff Buckley Quotes

I'm very emotional; I think I may go mad in several years' time.

I have cultivated my hysteria with pleasure and terror.

Van Gogh was impulsive.

Art is a liaison between some sort of deranged mentality and others who are not going through it.

My soul is dark with stormy riot: directly traced over to diet.

... madness entered my veins.

That's the terrible part. I swear to God I'm a madman.

I was completely nuts for most of my life.

I have my own demons and dark moods. It's weird.

There's certainly a side of me that isn't completely... sane. Or completely 'even' all the time. We all have our dark sides.

Sometimes I want to party, sometimes I want to fight and sometimes I want to cry.

Writers are too neurotic to ever be happy.

O, you men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn or misanthropic, how greatly do you wrong me. You do not know the secret cause which makes me seem that way to you, and I would have ended my life - it was only my art that held me back. Ah, it seemed impossible to leave the world until I had brought forth all that I felt was within me.

The darkness, the loop of negative thoughts on repeat, clamours and interferes with the music I hear in my head.

I'll be fine, and suddenly I'll feel the depression coming on. It can start with the smallest thing.

I don't know how to produce work if it's not something that's deeply scaring me or troubling me.

Melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.

I am crazy as hell, but I know it. And knowing it is a kind of sanity that makes the sickness worse.

Wholeness is the enemy of the artist. We ought to be broken, ruined in some way.

Demoniac frenzy, moping melancholy.

I think I am mad sometimes.

She sometimes thought she was going crazy. Her first thought when she woke up was always how to get him out of her thoughts. And she would keep watch, hoping to see him next door, while plotting ways to never have to see him again.

Mattie sat at the table, obsessing, orbiting around herself. She was sick of her worried, hostile mind. It would have killed her long before, she felt, if it hadn't needed the transportation.

There is a particular kind of pain, elation, loneliness and terror involved in this kind of madness... It will never end, for madness carves its own reality.

But day after day of depression, the kind that doesn’t seem to merit carting me off to a hospital but allows me to sit here on this stoop in summer camp as if I were normal, day after day wearing down everybody who gets near me. My behavior seems, somehow, not acute enough for them to know what to do with me, though I’m just enough of a mess to be driving everyone around me crazy.