Occasionally one must say to heck with Chesterton. Chesterton is a grand philosopher for pulling the fair-to-middling life up into the angelic ether; there is none better for taking a hobbit and fashioning a hero; but, for those who deem ho-hummity as an unattainable paradise, Chestertonian precepts are unavailing. It is no use telling the man in the gutter to make a game of his goose-flesh. Sometimes it is better to imagine oneself away from one's present circumstances; sometimes it is better to live in groundless fantasies than in the world as it is; sometimes a studious disregard for the moment is necessary to keep one remotely functional. I am tired to excess. I shall sleep and awake elsewhere than Michigan in February.
