I've Come To Realize That Most Good

I Think People Believe In Heaven Because They Don't Like The Idea Of Dying, Because They Want To Carry On Living And They Don't Like The Idea That Other People Will Move Into Their House And Put Their Things Into The Rubbish.

At Teenage Parties He Was Always Wandering Into The Garden, Sitting On A Bench In The Dark . . . Staring Up At The Constellations And Pondering All Those Big Questions About The Existence Of God And The Nature Of Evil And The Mystery Of Death, Questions Which Seemed More Important Than Anything Else In The Would Until A Few Years Passed And Some Real Questions Had Been Dumped Into Your Lap, Like How To Earn A Living, And Why People Fell In And Out Of Love, And How Long You Could Carry On Smoking And Then Give Up Without Getting Lung Cancer.

No One Wants To Know How Clever You Are. They Don't Want An Insight Into Your Mind, Thrilling As It Might Be. They Want An Insight Into Their Own.

It Exasperated Her Sometimes. The Way Men Could Be So Sure Of Themselves. They Put Words Together Like Sheds Or Shelves And You Could Stand On Them They Were So Solid. And Those Feelings Which Overwhelmed You In The Small Hours Turned To Smoke.

You Could Ask For Hugs If You Were Feeling Sad Or You'd Hurt Yourself, But When It Happened Spontaneously It Made You Feel Warm Inside.