Not Forever, But For Now

The predators must prey. The prey must be predated. They only wish to be preyed upon by someone who'll do the job properly.

And it crossed his mind how every Dorothy turns into the Wicked Witch.

Religion ... is merely what people invent when they wake late at night filled with ancient terror of being found out in their little nest of grasses and torn to shreds by the inevitable.

We're bright young things, and no bright young thing wants to squander his life as a custodian to the dead.

I'd rather die than know I'm not worth the killing. I'd rather be eaten than know I'm not worthy food.

It’s having too many birthdays that kills most people, it is.

Sniff these letters, we do. Paper gives off such a stench, a quality that elevates the crudest page above the most eloquent of emails.

Otto stomps the gas to generate an ever-increasing force of G’s that makes me, his baby brother, swallow my caramel-coated butter toffee. Not just for Grandfather does he do this. Not just for that cash money paid by rich drivers wanting insurance payouts for new rides, Otto cranks the steering wheel to kill that always-moving part of himself that all young people need to kill. That reckless, restless you who you don’t want to be anymore by old age.

The townsfolk are a superstitious lot. But that's to be expected. They're Catholics.

I’d rather die than know I’m not worth the killing. I’d rather be eaten than know I’m not worthy food

It’s all a great mystery, this religious business.

If not forever, but for now.

We’re bright young things, and no bright young thing wants to squander his life as a custodian to the dead.

History, Grandfather tells us, is always planned out well ahead of time.

A trick of fake fakes faking their fakery,

If one settles for being loved, one must always be at the beck and call of others, and stay out of their black book, and thus retain that love no matter what the cost to one’s freedom.

Otto says that as soon as people fall in love they’re already looking for a reason to hate each other. Because everyone you love is just another fragile pink joey, and cancer will eat them, or wolves, so no matter how much you hurt you’ll need to still look down at their dead body someday. On that day, your only comfort will be to say, “At least I won’t have to smell your horrid armpits anymore.” Or, “Thank goodness your ugly feet died with you.

Otto says no one actually falls in love because you never meet the people driving the same speed as you. You only meet the boring slowpokes or the crazed speed demons, and when you marry one or the other, you can kiss romance good-bye.