There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.

Hunter S. Thompson

Hunter S. Thompson

Profession: Journalist
Nationality: American

Some suggestions for you :

But why not float if you have no goal? That is another question. It is unquestionably better to enjoy the floating than to swim in uncertainty.

Balls, I said. Never mind the track. The track is for punks.

Journalism is not a profession or a trade. It is a cheap catch-all for fuckoffs and misfits—a false doorway to the backside of life, a filthy piss-ridden little hole nailed off by the building inspector, but just deep enough for a wino to curl up from the sidewalk and masturbate like a chimp in a zoo-cage.

Las Vegas is the savage heart of the American Dream.

The downward spiral of Dumbness in America is about to hit a new low.

Shoot the pasties off the nipples of a ten-foot bull-dyke and win a cotton-candy goat.

In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity.

Walk tall, kick ass, learn to speak Arabic, love music and never forget you come from a long line of truth seekers, lovers and warriors.

All the while I had been in San Juan I'd condemned it without really disliking it. I felt that sooner or later I would see that third dimension, that depth that makes a city real and that you never see until you've been there awhile.

Twenty years on the outlaw circuit have not done much to mellow his view of the press and the world of devious squares he thinks it represents. He would no more trust a reporter than he would a cop or a judge. To him they are all the same—the running dogs of whatever fiendish conspiracy has plagued him all these years.

Living on pills, phone calls unmade, people unseen, pages unwritten, money unmade, pressure piling up all around to make some kind of breakthrough and get moving again. Get the gum off the rails, finish something, croak this awful habit of not ever getting to the end- of anything.

I'm a relatively respectable citizen. Multiple felon perhaps, but certainly not dangerous.

All we have to do is get out and vote, while it's still legal, and we will wash those crooked warmongers out of the White House.

It occurred to me one evening, as I sat by myself in Al's patio, that a man can live on his wits and his balls for only so long. I'd been doing it for ten years and I had a feeling that my reserve was running low.