A first visit to a madhouse is always a shock.
I have a theory that Southern madhouses are full of gifted women who were stifled.
Basically, that's why I wrote: to save my ass, to save my ass from the madhouse, from the streets, from myself.
Between incomprehensible and incoherent sits the madhouse. I am not in the madhouse.
Dear Lord, what a madhouse the world is!
I run blindly through the madhouse. . . And I cannot even pray. . . For I have no God.
The worst men have the best jobs the best men have the worst jobs or are unemployed or locked in madhouses.
Madhouses are houses made on purpose to cause suffering. . . I cannot stand any longer the screams of these creatures.