"Football Season Is Over."

No más juegos. No más bombas. No más caminatas. No más diversión. No más nado. 67. Esos son 17 años pasados los 50. 17 más de los que necesitaba o quería. Aburrido. Estoy siempre quejoso. No es divertido para nadie. 67. Te estás volviendo codicioso. Actuá como debés a tu edad. Relajate, esto no va a doler.

~~ Hunter S. Thompson, escritor, 20 de Febrero, 2005

Hunter le dejó esta nota a su mujer, Anita. Se suicidó 4 días después en su casa en Aspen, Colorado, luego de varias semanas de dolor debido a varios problemas físicos que incluían una pierna rota y un reemplazo de cadera.

Virginia Woolf's suicide note

'Dearest, I feel certain I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can't even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that - everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer.

I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been.

V.'