A: Your cynicism begins to border on nihilism.
B: I’ve been reading Nietzsche.
A: Maybe you should read something more upbeat, more positive.
B: But I enjoy dancing with shadows.
A: Is there no room for hope in your philosophy?
B: There is more in heaven and earth. . .
A: Yes, yes. Than is dreamt of in your philosophy.
B: My philosophy is pessimistic, true. I often feel hope is the denial of reality.
A: Reality is a matter of perception: the world is what you make of it.
B: Relativistic bullshit. My attitude toward my perceptions cannot change the reality of what I perceive.
A: A rose by any other name?
B: In a sense. Try sniffing this: the reality of my existence, of my life, is — apparently — a mirror of reality on a grander scale.
A: In the key of C minor?
B: In a sense. Before the opening note, an eternity of silence. Then brooding melodies, turbulent harmonies, struggle and strife —
A: Your life — all life — as a dark and brooding symphony, eh?
B: Exactly! And after the closing cadence, there will be. . .