Making a good poet out of myself in a cheap apartment isn't something I have got planned for myself. Being sobered up to the reality of being an artist, I am aware that a legacy doesn't await me. Stuck in the middle of several choices, I choose the right ones. Only a calmness regarding the endearing moments of life will stay with me after I leave. People will want heartbreak and entertainment years after I'm gone. My story will not provide a catharsis or any form of solace.
Probably, because my story offers cold comforts for one's drug-addled fantasy. The next time I'm in love, depression, and a mess, I will not be writing for the money. I can assure you a deep satisfaction that follows reading my work. I can promise this because I remain disenchanted with my lines.
Like most others, I was a seeker, a mover, a malcontent, and at times a stupid hell-raiser. I was never idle long enough to do much thinking, but I felt somehow that some of us were making real progress, that we had taken an honest road, and that the best of us would inevitably make it over the top. At the same time, I shared a dark suspicion that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actors, kidding ourselves along on a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between these two poles - a restless idealism on one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other - that kept me going.
Hunter S. Thompson