It probably sounds rather trite and unoriginal of me to say it, but take me at my word. In college, I think, I was far too immature to appreciate (let alone really understand) what he was driving at, and so the furthest I ever made it was to chapter 3 of Orthodoxy, where I got irretrievably stuck.
Having finally reread that magnificent book a year or two ago, and finding that I was able to not only complete it, but finally get what he was saying, I began my admiration for a man I truly wish I could have met.
These last few days, browsing through the collected essays contained in Brave New Family, I have come to realize that Chesterton is the man who, in my better moments, I wish to be. I sense in him a kindred soul - a man given to draw upon what is (and has ever been) good in the world, regardless of what cesspool it may mysteriously climbed out of. A man for whom certain formalities are essential but others are just accretions of the insufferably unimaginative, and thus to be discarded with delight. A man who loved better than I have ever learned to love, looked always on the world with the eyes of a child, found humor in places where others find grief, enjoyed indulging his ideas without ever indulging himself, and found life to be a great adventure which, even at its most difficult, should be looked upon as an occasion of excitement rather than one of stress or woe.
His was a magnanimous soul, and I wish I knew someone like him. Men like Chesterton inspire men like me to be more than they are.
