What Are You Going To Do With

That, You Know, Is Why The World Exists At All. It Remains Outside The Cosmic Garbage Can Of Nothingness, Not Because It Is Such A Solemn Necessity That Nobody Can Get Rid Of It, But Because It Is The Orange Peel Hung On God's Chandelier, The Wishbone In His Kitchen Closet. He Likes It; Therefore, It Stays. The Whole Marvelous Collection Of Stones, Skins, Feathers, And String Exists Because At Least One Lover Has Never Quite Taken His Eye Off It, Because The Dominus Vivificans Has His Delight With The Sons Of Men.

You Can Fold Up Spiritually, Morally, Or Intellectually And Still Be Safe. Because At The Very Worst, All You Can Be Is Dead —and For Him Who Is The Resurrection And The Life, That Just Makes You His Cup Of Tea.

Heaven Is Populated Entirely By Forgiven Sinners

The World Exists, Not For What It Means But For What It Is. The Purpose Of Mushrooms Is To Be Mushrooms, Wine Is In Order To Be Wine: Things Are Precious Before They Are Contributory. It Is A False Piety That Walks Through Creation Looking Only For Lessons Which Can Be Applied Somewhere Else. To Be Sure, God Remains The Greatest Good; But, For All That, The World Is Still Good In Itself. Indeed, Since He Does Not Need It, Its Whole Reason For Being Must Lie In Its Own Natural Goodness; He Has No Use For It, Only Delight.

Give Us This Day Our Daily Taste. Restore To Us Soups That Spoons Will Not Sink In And Sauces Which Are Never The Same Twice. Raise Up Among Us Stews With More Gravy Than We Have Bread To Blot It With... Give Us Pasta With A Hundred Fillings.