Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life… But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?
Irvine Welsh, Trainspotting, 1993.
« Tout à coup, se profilant derrière le cercle de la lune, en un mouvement très lent d’une immense majesté, un joyau bleu et jaune étincelant a commencé à grandir à l’horizon, une lumière, une sphère délicate de couleur bleu ciel parcourue de veines blanches légèrement tourbillonnantes, s’élevait graduellement comme une perle minuscule en se dégageant d’un immense océan de mystère opaque. Il m’a fallu quelque temps pour prendre pleinement conscience qu’il s’agissait là de la Terre… de notre chez-nous. »
(Edgar Mitchell, membre de l’équipage d’Apollo XIV)
