Alex Ander

“I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me.”
― Hunter S. Thompson

“And I, too, wanted to be. That is all I wanted; this is the last word. At the bottom of all these attempts which seemed without bonds, I find the same desire again: to drive existence out of me, to rid the passing moments of their fat, to twist them, dry them, purify myself, harden myself, to give back at last the sharp, precise sound of a saxophone note. That could even make an apologue: there was a poor man who got in the wrong world. He existed, like other people, in a world of public parks, bistros, commercial cities and he wanted to persuade himself that he was living somewhere else, behind the canvas of paintings, with the doges of Tintoretto, with Gozzoli's Florentines, behind the pages of books, with Fabrico del Dongo and Julien Sorel, behind the phonograph records, with the long dry laments of jazz. And then, after making a complete fool of himself, he understood, he opened his eyes, he saw that it was a misdeal: he was in a bistro, just in front of a glass of warm beer. He stayed overwhelmed on the bench; he thought: I am a fool. And at that very moment, on the other side of existence, in this other world which you can see in the distance, but without ever approaching it, a little melody began to sing and dance: "You must be like me; you must suffer in rhythm."
The voice sings: "Some of these days You'll miss me, honey".”
― Jean-Paul Sartre

“It is nothing to die. It is frightful not to live.”
― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

“You understand psychiatry?" Tracy said. "Psychiatry, no," Dr. Pingitzer said.
"People - little bit. Little, little, little bit. very year, every day - less, less, less. Why? People is difficult. People is people. People is fun, play, imagination, magic. Ah ha. People is pain, people is sick, people is mad, people is hurt, people is hurt people, is kill, is kill self. Where is fun, where is play, where is imagination, where is magic? Psychiatry I hate. People I love. Mad people, beautiful people, hurt people, sick people, broke people, in pieces people, I love, I love. Why? Why is lost from people fun, play, imagination, magic? What for? Ah ha. Money?" He smiled. "I think so. Money. Is love, this money. Is beauty, this money. Is fun, this money. Where is money? I do not know. No more fun. Work, now. Work, Tiger, Tiger.”
― William Saroyan, Tracy's Tiger