Creation, in itself, was joy. The difference was joy, the celebration of it was joy. There was nothing that could stand against that Joy; sooner or later it would triumph. All evil, all death, was a tiny, fretting, posturing thing that knew its own defeat was coming, and might rage and destroy as it liked. It was doomed. Celebration would win, was winning, had won now. Everything was one moment, and the moment was nothing but triumph and joy.