The omnipotent last sentence?

    So as every writer knows (which is just about everyone since we all have to write something at one point in our lives, from a simple birthday card to the umpteenth email you send to your boss telling him that yes you are on vacation right now), one of the most important aspects of writing a paper, a letter, an email, or anything at all, is how you start it—and end it. That's right. It's just like how everyone initially (and often unconsciously) forms first impressions of others based on physical appearance (which is why we devote so many of our industries to the development of beauty products and manufacturing the latest fashion designs—though, luckily for us especially when we go through those teenage years of pimple angst, first impressions can quickly be altered for the better once others get to know you and find out that: (I know it's cliché but still!) "there's more than what meets the eye!"), but in the end, when all's said and done, when you last see someone, there's that last impression you leave of yourself in the other person's mind—the impression in which you are (hopefully) more mature, considerate, and perhaps even wise and sagacious if they are seeing you in your elderly years. Thus the last impression is essentially the overall final picture they have of you, encompassing not only the initial first impression, but also changes in their impression of you as they pass time with you and you both experience the same ups and downs from overcoming the effects of senioritis together, to singing wildly for four hours at the karaoke in celebration of summer. Similarly, within novels, the reader and writer are like two friends that have experienced many trials and tribulations together through the length of the plot. And as the story draws to a close, the writer has one final chance before he leaves the reader (ending the novel) to leave a last impression, that reflects and may stand to represent the entire story as a whole, on the reader in the form of: the omnipotent last sentence.

    Within All the King's Men, Robert Penn Warren ends the novel with this last sentence: "… and soon now we shall go out of the house and go into the convulsion of the world, out of history into history and the awful responsibility of Time." (661). Though your first though may have been a perplexed "Huh?" when you think further about this last quote, or this last impression the writer is hoping to leave within the thoughts of his readers, you realize that it really reflects many of the factors that Jack struggles to deal with during the novel, but also shows how his final acknowledgement of them indicates the growth he experienced throughout this novel as well as his final understanding and acceptance of having to face these factors in life. When he says in the first part, "…we shall go out of the house and go into the convulsion of the world…" he seems to talking about going out and dealing with the complications of the world face to face, rather than constantly running away from being involved in any complications. This is especially significant because before, for much of his life, he had been afraid of becoming too involved and drawn into the problems of the world, as he initially marries Lois the object to disassociate himself from world and from having to be too sincere about anything, but then he leaves her because he is afraid that if he begins seeing her as a person, she'll "trap him into becoming involved with the world" which is exactly what he's hiding from. In addition, the phrase "…out of history into history…" seems to refer to his realization that he must accept the past to proceed onto the future and perhaps use the past to learn from and build a better future. Finally, in saying "…the awful responsibility of Time" Jack's acknowledgement of the "awful responsibility" perhaps indicates the understanding he has now of the "Spider-web Theory", where anything one does will, over time, have its positive and negative consequences, rather than the "Theory of the Great Twitch" as he says, "…he woke up one morning to discover that he did not believe in the Great Twitch anymore… he saw that though doomed they [Willie Stark and Adam Stanton] had nothing to do with any doom under the godhead of the Great Twitch. They were doomed but they lived in the agony of will." (Warren 657) Thus he realizes that, though not necessarily a bad sacrifice, the price we pay for having control over our own actions, is being unable to control the effects of our actions, and thus we live in "the agony of will."