God Is Dead

I am not your God. Or if I am, I'm no God you can seek out for deliverance or explanation. I'm the kind of God who would eat you without compunction if I were hungry.

He forgot about me almost as soon as I disappeared from sight.

Compassion is a coat of fur I find particularly ill-fitting.

Our departure was as natural and inevitable as the sunrise.

Time and again the people still in the camp, realizing they were now trapped, called to God in a hundred different dialects. He laughed and cried at once. He had so many names, yet could not answer to any of them.