Men have called me mad; but the question is not settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest of intelligence.
"I, too, felt ready to start life all over again. It was as if that great rush of anger had washed me clean, emptied me of hope, and, gazing up at the dark sky spangled with its signs and stars, for the first time, the first, I laid my heart open to the benign indifference of the universe. To feel it so like myself, indeed, so brotherly, made me realize that I’d been happy, and that I was happy still."
“ I don’t think that people accept the fact that life doesn’t make sense. I think it makes people terribly uncomfortable. It seems like religion and myth were invented against that, trying to make sense out of it.
The Motorist (1906, R.W. Paul) (via), a silent comedy short about a couple who exceed the speed limit and fly off the face of the Earth into outer space whilst fleeing the police. Motoring through the solar system, their car touches down on the sun and goes for a spin around Saturn’s rings.