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Date: 2004-04-09 12:47 am (UTC)I'm thinking that there's an afterlife where all the poetry and stories and lore that, on this imperfect earth lost, have been preserved for real. As a library with books and scrolls, with bards and singers who remember, doesn't matter. (Like the library in the Dreaming). Can't wait.
I suspect that slutty Pagan me will be in line for everything way, way behind that old Oxford don with the pipe. Doesn't matter--it's eternity, we can wait. He better let me buy him a pint, though.