"As the rapper Kanye West, whose ‘Yeezus’ tour was inspired by ‘The Holy Mountain,’ put it last November to a packed (and very likely perplexed) house at Brooklyn’s Barclays Center: ‘I don’t know if … y’all ever heard about Jodorowsky, the director… . Y’all don’t know who the [expletive] he is… . Everybody copied off him… . And there’s gonna be [expletives] in this arena in a few months dancing all sloppy off him.’"
"They let him go without an anchor so that he could come back if he wished and whenever he wished, and they all held their breath for the fraction of centuries the body took to fall into the abyss. They did not need to look at one another to realize that they were no longer all present, that they would never be. But they also knew that everything would be different from then on, that their houses would have wider doors, higher ceilings, and stronger floors so that Esteban’s memory could go everywhere without bumping into beams and so that no one in the future would dare whisper the big boob finally died, too bad, the handsome fool has finally died, because they were going to paint their house fronts gay colors to make Esteban’s memory eternal and they were going to break their backs digging for springs among the stones and planting flowers on the cliffs so that in future years at dawn the passengers on great liners would awaken, suffocated by the smell of gardens on the high seas, and the captain would have to come down from the bridge in his dress uniform, with his astrolabe, his pole star, and his row of war medals and, pointing to the promontory of roses on the horizon, he would say in fourteen languages, look there, where the wind is so peaceful now that it’s gone to sleep beneath the beds, over there, where the sun’s so bright that the sunflowers don’t know which way to turn, yes, over there, that’s Esteban’s village."
— Gabriel Garcia Marquez, The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World
"History does not live, if you give her no home in consciousness: it is a burden that no free man can be forced to wear."
— JM Coetzee , Diary of a Bad Year