Pale Fire
"I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane
I was the smudge of ashen fluff -- and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky."
- Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire
Pale Fire is a space between faith and fact. Is there a heaven? And will I get to know it? If seeing is believing, and faith is believing without seeing, can I believe what I do not see? Can I force that seeing to reaffirm faith?
By the false azure in the windowpane
I was the smudge of ashen fluff -- and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky."
- Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire
Pale Fire is a space between faith and fact. Is there a heaven? And will I get to know it? If seeing is believing, and faith is believing without seeing, can I believe what I do not see? Can I force that seeing to reaffirm faith?