The Language Of Sin Was Universal, The

It Was Something... The Way A Person's Life Picked Up Speed, The Way A Life Was Like A Bullet Aimed At One Final Target, Impossible To Slow Or Turn Aside, And Like The Bullet, You Were Ignorant Of What You Were Going To Hit, Would Never Know Anything Except The Rush And The Impact.

She Just Knew That Even When You Had Nothing, You Still Had Love.

He Paused, Twisting His Goatee, Considering The Law In Deuteronomy That Forbade Clothes With Mixed Fibers. A Problematic Bit Of Scripture. A Matter That Required Thought. "only The Devil Wants Man To Have A Wide Range Of Lightweight And Comfortable Styles To Choose From," He Murmured At Last, Trying Out A New Proverb. "although There May Be No Forgiveness For Polyester. On This One Matter, Satan And The Lord Are In Agreement.

The Mad Sometimes Drilled Holes In Their Own Heads To Let The Demons Out. To Relieve The Pressure Of Thoughts They Could No Longer Bear. Jude Understood The Impulse. Each Beat Of His Heart Was A Fresh And Staggering Blow Felt In The Nerves Behind His Eyes And In His Temples. Punishing Evidence Of Life.

I See God Now As An Unimaginative Writer Of Popular Fictions, Someone Who Builds Stories Around Sadistic And Graceless Plots, Narratives That Exist Only To Express His Terror Of A Woman's Power To Choose Who And How To Love, To Redefine Love As She Sees Fit, Not As God Thinks It Ought To Be. The Author Is Unworthy Of His Own Characters.