I can well imagine an atheist’s last words: “White, white! L-L-Love! My God!—and the deathbed leap of faith. Whereas the agonistic, if he stays true to his reasonable self, if he stays beholden to dry, yeastless factuality, might try to explain the warm light bathing him by saying, “Possibly a f-f-failing oxygenation of the b-b-brain,” and, to the very end, lack imagination and miss the better story.
The main battlefield for good is not the open ground of the public arena but the small clearing of each heart.
The circus lions don’t care to know that their leader is a weakling human; the fiction guarantees their social well-being and staves off violent anarchy.
Things didn’t turn out the way they were supposed to, but what can you do? You must take life the way it comes at you and make the best of it.
This story has a happy ending.
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