I knew an undergraduate at college who spent his days asleep, or drinking beer; he never needed academic knowledge until the day of reckoning drew near, when, as he found his time was growing short, he’d borrow books, or photocopy them, and, downing frantic coffee by the quart, he’d burn the midnight oil, till five a.m. It puzzles me a little when I find the ones who press conversion at the end expecting atheists to change their mind in panic, like our coffee-drinking friend, with fingers crossed and hoping for the best in case this life’s continuously assessed.
Written impromptu as a comment on a sonnet by Roz Kaveney. ( http://bit.ly/90U8i7 )