Sunday, September 08, 2019

The literary kind …

… Pilgrimage | George Hunka. (Hat tip, Dave Lull.)

“It is true, that which I have revealed to you; there is no God, no universe, no human race, no earthly life, no heaven, no hell. It is all a dream — a grotesque and foolish dream. Nothing exists but you. And you are but a thought — a vagrant thought, a useless thought, a homeless thought, wandering forlorn among the empty eternities!”
Just who is it who is having this thought? Who is having the dream? I confess I am not overly fond of Twain. I loved Tom Sawyer when I read it as a kid. I loved it so much I immediately read Huckleberry Finn. But I didn’t like that anywhere near as much. I am not enough of a crank to be taken in by Twain’s cranky views. Taken in large doses, they grow tedious.

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