It Was Not Really Possible To Understand

Until An Hour Before The Devil Fell, God Thought Him Beautiful In Heaven.

There Is A Kind Of Perverse Unity Forming Among Us, Born, I Think, Of The Discontent Of All Classes Of People With The Endless Frustration Of Life.

When Irrational Terror Takes To Itself The Fiat Of Moral Goodness Somebody Has To Die. ... No Man Lives Who Has Not Got A Panic Button, And When It Is Pressed By The Clean White Hand Of Moral Duty, A Certain Murderous Train Is Set In Motion.

The Job Is To Ask Questions - It Always Was - And To Ask Them As Inexorably As I Can. And To Face The Absence Of Precise Answers With A Certain Humility.

Now Hell And Heaven Grapple On Our Backs And All Our Old Pretense Is Ripped Away. Aye, And God's Icy Wind Will Blow.