You can either accept that, or you can get to work.

I am going to die here.

My headstone will read: “Mark Watney. 1986–2025.”
There will be a big, highly publicized memorial service. Everybody will be there, maybe even The President.

Everybody except my body. Because my remains will be 140 million miles away and there’s no way they would spend 6 billion dollars worth of mission just to retrieve it. I’ll be the only human being to have died on Mars.

Million miles away, I thought of home; of my father’s advice and my mother’s gentle hands. Of the warmth only home provides.

I am not going to die here.