Christopher Hitchens died last night. Many of you likely know who he was. Some of you may only have heard of him. To say that he was a British journalist who rose to fame on the prowess of his writing on politics and atheism, while true, would only be the cold, stock description of a vast and complicated man. Ill with esophageal cancer over the last year-and-a-half, the news of Hitchens' death has nevertheless surprised me with the magnitude of melancholy it has created within my core. A man of sharp tongue and intellect, who rarely tired of a robust debate, Hitchens drew inspiration from George Orwell, and many (myself included) in-turn drew inspiration from him. His written output was profuse, encompassing a plethora of essays and articles, many of them for Vanity Fair magazine. He also put out the odd book, many of which wouldn't fail at rousing the ire of many a die-hard believer, incensed at Hitchens' blasphemy of their particular religiosity. But it was hard to w...