Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.
I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.
Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.
Love is . . . a madness most discreet
As the cat lapses into savagery by night, and barbarously explores the dark, so primal and titanic is a woman with the love madness.
For you to ask advice on the rules of love is no better than to ask advice on the rules of madness.
The love song must be born into the realm of the irrational, absurd, the distracted, the melancholic, the obsessive, the insane for the love song is the noise of love itself and love is, of course, a form of madness.
Filled with her love, may I be rather grown Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.
I ask myself how I could give in to this perpetual vertigo that I in fact provoked and feared. I floated among erratic clouds and talked to myself in front of the mirror in the vain hope of confirming who I was. My delirium was so great that during a student demonstration complete with rocks and bottles, I had to make an enormous effort not to lead it as I held up a sign that would sanctify my truth: I am mad with love.
I'll be the in to your sane.
I believe everyone is mad when they are in love, and I don't think that can ever end.
My heart's so full of joy, That I shall do some wild extravagance Of love in public; and the foolish world, Which knows not tenderness, will think me mad.
Cupid is a knavish lad, Thus to make poor females mad.
Afflicted by love's madness all are blind.
So much love, too much love, it is our madness, it is rotting us out, exploding us like dandelion polls.
We've given up making a living, its all this crazy love poetry now!
I loved you madly; in the distasteful work of the day, in the wakeful misery of the night, girded by sordid realities, or wandering through Paradises and Hells of visions into which I rushed, carrying your image in my arms, I loved you madly.
There is bound to be someone driven mad by love who will give you the chance to study the effects of gold cyanide on a cadaver. And when you do find one, observe with care, they almost always have crystals in their heart
Let the lover be disgraceful, crazy, absent-minded. Someone sober will worry about events going badly. Let the lover be.
We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.
