Carrying the Fire: An Astronaut's Journey

by Michael Collins

Peritonitis is no way to go, baby, that’s all I learned.

a close friend who sincerely believes in astrology and can’t stop talking about it, especially delighting in reading you your horoscope on bad days. None of it is to be believed, but it’s pretty goddamned difficult to ignore.

Champagne, I am firmly convinced, is most pleasurable when one is surprised by it, when it appears unexpectedly and out of context,

this guy who couldn’t tell Washington from Baltimore was within a few months of navigating to the moon and back.

“Sounds good to me,” I say. “Tell them to eat some lunch before they do.” The Jewish mother is in orbit.

Oops, one never swears on the radio—perhaps that’s why I swear so much otherwise.

Another one? Yes, thank you, Bill, I believe I will, a big one.

Nor am I above telling the police officer when I am stopped for speeding, “Gosh, Officer, I guess I just haven’t learned to slow down since I got back from the moon.”

I think having it to walk over is better than having walked over it.