Why not? If enough people believe, you can be god of anything.

The wages of sin is death but so is the salary of virtue, and at least the evil get to go home early on Fridays.

It had a very long pendulum, and the pendulum swung with a slow tick-tock that set his teeth on edge, because it was the the kind of delibrate, annoying ticking that wanted to make it abundantly clear that every tick and every tock was stripping another second off your life.

The city's full of people who you just see around.

He never pays attention, he always knows the answer, and he can never tell you how he knows. We can't keep thrashing him. He is a bad example to the other pupils. There's no educating a smart boy.

Previous generations understood about death, and undoubtedly would have seen a reasonable amount of death. Once you get into the Victorian era, you might well have seen the funerals of many of your siblings before you were very old.

I don't think about the end game. I've got lots to occupy my mind. It's the rage that keeps me going.