One Day The Ordinariness Will Be Terminally

You Can't Blame Me. I Mean That Literally. You're Incapable Of Blaming Me. You're Human. Being Human Is Choosing Freedom Over Imprisonment, Autonomy Over Dependency, Liberty Over Servitude. You Can't Blame Me Because You Know (come On, Man, You've Always Known) That The Idea Of Spending Eternity With Nothing To Do Except Praise God Is Utterly Unappealing. You'd Be Catatonic After An Hour. Heaven's A Swiz Because To Get In You Have To Leave Yourself Outside. You Can't Blame Me Because -- Now Do Please Be Honest With Yourself For Once -- You'd Have Left, Too.

Poets Suffer Occasional Delusions Of Angelhood And Find Themselves Condemned To Express It In The Bric-a-brac Tongues Of The Human World. Lots Of Them Go Mad.

The Only Animal From Which Humans Have Nothing To Learn, In Fact, Is The Sheep. Humans Have Already Learned Everything The Sheep's Got To Teach.

I Suppose The Word "unbearable" Is A Lie By Definition. Unless You Kill Yourself Immediately After Using It.

I'm With Milton And The Rolling Stones: I Don't Find The Devil An Unsympathetic Character. But In Any Case, My Fiction Is Populated As Much By People Who Do Good As It Is By Those Who Do Bad. I'm Interested In Imaginatively Accommodating As Much Of The Human As Possible, For Which You Need Both Moral Extremes And Everything In Between.