We are nothing but a string of gut on a stick of bone riding this piece of astral soot for one piteous splinter of eternity.

People rarely do what they don't want to.

I love being a writer. What I can't stand is the paperwork.

We are nothing but a string of gut on a stick of bone riding this piece of astral soot for one piteous splinter of eternity.

You can make a sordid thing sound like a brilliant drawing-room comedy. Probably a fear we have of facing up to the real issues. Could you say we were guilty of Noel Cowardice?

The idea of a Supreme Being who creates a world in which one creature is designed to eat another in order to subsist, and then pass a law saying, "Thou shalt not kill," is so monstrously, immeasurably, bottomlessly absurd that I am at a loss to understand how mankind has entertained or given it house room all this long.

Man is vile, I know, but people are wonderful.