Pick a sin we can both live with, is what I ask.

There's only room for one hero in this story-and everyone knows the devil doesn't get to be the good guy.

The difference between childhood and adulthood, Vic had come to believe, was the difference between imagination and resignation. You traded one for the other and lost your way.

I mean, when the world comes for your children, with the knives out, it's your job to stand in the way.

I see God now as an unimaginative writer of popular fictions, someone who builds stories around sadistic and graceless plots, narratives that exist only to express His terror of a woman's power to choose who and how to love, to redefine love as she sees fit, not as God thinks it ought to be. The author is unworthy of His own characters.

She just knew that even when you had nothing, you still had love.

You'll have pie in the sky when you die.