Letters

We all know that sunlight will never come at night, that you certainly can’t walk on sunlight, and that, most important, the afterlife itself—the supposed end of the sunlit ramp—is likely a space imagined by people hoping to ease their grief for the ones they’ve lost.

You tell me it is a mass of vapor which absorbs all other rays and reflects the red, but that is nothing to the purpose, for this red vision excites me, stirs my blood, makes my thoughts flow, and I have new and indescribable fancies, and you have not touched the secret of that influence. If there is not something mystical in your explanation, some