Sanity is like a thin crust of stability over underlying horrors. At some places, some times, it is stout and pliant, but at others, it is paper-thin. You could poke a hole in it with a finger, peel it away with a nail, and lay bare the raw core of irrationality, the fears, the demons...
One can see the hollowness of this veneer, the superficiality, the pomposity, the self-indulgence and the myopic ignorance. I can understand why the mad sometimes pity the sane. Yet, I would not abandon sanity, nor I would rob someone of it, unless (until?) I had something better to offer in its stead. The insanity that lurks beneath — the insanity I attempt to 'cure' (oh, the arrogance!) — is no better a replacement. No wisdom to bargain chaos for order, albeit artificial and arbitrary that state of array may be.
One may possibly seek something above, but any über-sanity to my mortal eyes would appear no different from lunacy.