We've all become god's madmen, all of us.

This madness has come on us for our sins.

Fatigue makes cowards of all of us.

Night might convert the old devil into a fiend.

Our friends and allies are all turned cold.

One man’s wickedness becomes all men’s curse.

We're all mad, the whole damned race. We're wrapped in illusions, delusions, confusions about the penetrability of partitions, we're all mad and in solitary confinement.

In fact, I was shit-scared that we were going to make fools of ourselves.

If we couldn't laugh we would all go insane.

The Nonconformist Conscience makes cowards of us all.

Thus love makes fools of all of us, big and little

Lord, what fools these mortals be!

Conscience doth make cowards of us all.

When we are born, we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.