I was most incorrigibly devoted to versifying, and all my spouse's wholesome admonitions had no manner of effect on me; in short, I believe this scribbling itch is an incurable disease.
Writing in the incurable itch that possesses many.
The itch of scribbling.
You have the itch for writing born in you. It's quite incurable. What are you going to do with it?
Taking photographs can assuage the itch for possession sparked by the beauty of a place; our anxiety over losing a precious scene can decline with every click of the shutter.
Hand any four-year-old a fist full of crayons, and it is a very, very few who don't get busy with them, drawing, coloring, scribbling. I have not stopped scribbling.
I am a competitor and always have that itch until the day I die, but I won't let the itch supersede being a businessman.
The urge to write poetry is like having an itch. When the itch becomes annoying enough, you scratch it.
In the West, the insane are so many that they are put in an asylum, in China the insane are so unusual that we worship them.
There is no such thing as an incurable disease, only incurable people.
Many claim that it is insane to resist the system; but actually, it is insane not to.
There's a tree that grows in Brooklyn. Some people call it the Tree of Heaven. No matter where its seed falls, it makes a tree which struggles to reach the sky. It grows in boarded-up lots and out of neglected rubbish heaps. It grows up out of cellar gratings. It is the only tree that grows out of cement. It grows lushly . . . survives without sun, water, and seemingly without earth. It would be considered beautiful except that there are too many of it.
You can't stop insane people from doing insane things with insane laws. That's insane!
When I heard 'incurable'... incurable is a tough word.
Envy is a weed that grows in all soils and climates, and is no less luxuriant in the country than in the court; is not confined to any rank of men or extent of fortune, but rages in the breasts of all degrees.
There are so many kinds of madness, so many ways in which the human brain may go wrong; and so often it happens that what we call madness is both reasonable and just. It is so. Yes. A little reason is good for us, a little more makes wise men of some of us--but when our reason over-grows us and we reach too far, something breaks and we go insane.