“The crunch of bone is what religion thrives on.”

“You're from somewhere, aren't you?”

“Get up to turn your chair away from hera few degrees. And look at me. I maybe someone else's longed-for phantom. Pourme some more wine; tell me the story; listen:it's a dreary wish to want the whole world ghostless.”

“The grapes he foraged set my teeth on edge.I want to hack through their wild vines, dissectthis anger. It's a tangle: steep hill strungwith old foxgrapes among the hardwood, toughenough to swing from (proto-bungee rushthat's like a fit of rage, adrenalinalive inside me), or to strangle in.Vines choke.”

“So what don't you get?""The way people talk and act like they're crazy in love, and then, ding, suddenly they'renot. It's like it was all just pretend. Like it's just a game."He crunched on an ice cube. "Well, sometimes it is just a game.""Then how are you supposed to believe someone when it isn't?”

“Ironic, isn't it, what religion does to people?""I guess it's more ironic what people do to religion.”

“I have good idea, for if you meet some person from different religion and he want to make argument about God. My idea is, you listen to everything this man say about God. Never argue about God with him. Best thing to say is, 'I agree with you.' Then you go home, pray what you want. This is my idea for people to have peace about religion.”