“Either he was suffering a terrible case of gas or he had a pint-size child practicing the trumpet in his back pocket.”

“He stomped away like a pint-sized Godzilla looking for Tokyo.”

“My companion at the press drank every day a pint before breakfast, a pint at breakfast with his bread and cheese, a pint between breakfast and dinner, a pint at dinner, a pint in the afternoon about six o’clock, and another when he had done his day’s work.”

“He threw back his shoulders, a hunter preparing to stalk his prey across the night...and pulled an iPhone out of his pocket."You are kidding me." I watched as he tapped through screens with practiced swipes. "There's an app for that?”

“If He ever did come back, if He ever dared to show His face, or his Glyph, or whatever in the Garden again— if after all this destruction, if after all the terrible days of this terrible century, He returned to see how much suffering His abandonment had created, if all He has to offer is death, you should sue the bastard. That’s my only contribution to all this theology: sue the bastard for walking out. How dare He.”

“He hadn't a cent in his pocket, but he had faith !”