I don't know the excerpts
I am a dense thinker; I am constantly being bombarded by feedback from the world around me, and thus am unable to process bulks of information at a time. The small bit of feedback I do maintain, Is usually useless, and therefor is discarded later on. I am in my best environment when I flippantly flop on my bed and slip into a world of my own, comprised of nonsensical 'philosophy'. I truly enjoy this because I have no pressure to acknowledge the chaotic world around me, or to intelligently accomplish anything. Of course, this also means that the majority of my time is spent dozing off and/or being a sheep: unable to think for myself and following people who decide what is right for me. Sometimes, when I put real effort into my activities, I accomplish more than I thought I could. However, effort is hard, so I try to avoid it.
Answer:
“The painter's face curdled with scorn "You think I'm proud of this daub?" he said. "You think this is my idea of what life looks like?"
"What's your idea of what life looks like?" said the orderly.
The painter gestured at a foul drop cloth. "There's a good picture of it," he said. "Frame that, and you'll have a picture a d*** sight more honest than this one.”
Explanation:
The painter does not view life as enjoyable in any way. He views it to be as bad as a foul cloth. He knows that there is so much chaos, and that he is living only to die. This leads him to taking his own life, rather then letting the government take it from him; he doesn't view life as a "worth it" affair
