I CHOOSE TO

Why, Mr. Anderson? Why? Why do you do it? Why? Why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you're fighting for something? Something more than your survival? Can you tell me what it is? Do you even know? Is it freedom or truth? Perhaps peace? Could it be for love? Illusions, Mr. Anderson. Temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence without meaning or purpose. And all as artificial as the Matrix itself, although, only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love. You must be able to see it Mr. Anderson. You must know it by now. You can't win. There's no point in fighting. Why, Mr. Anderson? Why? Why do you persist?