This from Keroac's "On the Road:" The only people for me are the mad people. The one's who are mad to talk, mad to live, mad to be saved. The one's who never say a dull or commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous roman candles exploding like spiders across the skies and in the middle you see the blue center-light pop, and all the people go "ahhhhhhhhh." (committed to memory 37 years ago and still alive in the old brain)