Cum ar fi ca adevărul să fie scris frumos, colorat, vizibil? Și minciunile să fie trecute sub forma unor liste lungi, în dosul oricărui lucru? Adevărul să fie pus la loc de cinste, să fie atractiv, iar minciuna, să fie seacă, banală, plictisitoare? Cum ar fi ca adevărul să se dea gratis, iar minciuna trecută cu litere de-o șchioapă?
Probabil că Iadul nu ar mai avea oferte ieftine, Paradisul ar fi plin de neavizați și oamenii, agramați.
„Johnny Quid: – You see that pack of Virginia killing sticks on the end of the piano?
Pete: – Yes.
JQ: – All you need to know about life is retained in those four walls. You will notice that one of your personalities is seduced by the illusions of grandeur – the gold packet of king size with a regal insignia, an attractive implication towards grandeur and wealth, the subtle suggestion that cigarettes are indeed your royal and loyal friends, and that, Pete, is a lie.
Your other personality is trying to draw your attention to the flip side of the discussion, written in boring bold black and white, it’s a statement that these neat little soldiers of death are in fact trying to kill you and that, Pete, is the truth.
Oh, beauty is a beguiling call to death and I’m addicted to the sweet pitch of its siren. That that starts sweet, ends bitter and that which starts bitter, ends sweet. That is why you and I love the drugs and that is also why I cannot give that painting back. Now please, pass me a light.
P: – Oh you are something special, Mr Johnny Quid.”