“As soon as you have finished telling us anything, you seem to be ashamed of what you've said," Aglaia observed suddenly. "Why is that?”

“What is the meaning in anything? What is the use? Why don't you just burn the world up? Why don't you just decide that's all the use that world was, I'll make another one. I'll learn from my mistakes. I'll make a better one. Because in this one you've messed up. You've messed up badly. Has anyone told you that? Hasn't anyone's prayers said that? You've made an almighty mess. Because you've taken your eyes off us. You've looked away and you've let people starve, you've let people get AIDS, millions of them. You've let others bomb innocent ordinary people who are just doing their everyday things. You've killed them. You've killed them for no reason. They're just here one day and then they don't come home. Why do you let that happen? Answer me. Why?Is it just Chance? Is there nothing but that, no meaning, no purpose, nothing? You made a world for nothing. Is that it? Just a meaningless star in the galaxy with millions of creatures with no purpose at all. Millions of creatures that have this delusion that you are there? You're the God delusion, is that it? Why do we even have it then? Why do we even dream there is any you? Why are we even persisting in you after all these centuries, when you can't do anything for us? So you are either a joke, you have no power at all, or you are a killer. Those are the choices as I see it. As I see it you are doing nothing for us. You have done nothing for me. You've not even been listening, have you?”

“Surviving is one thing," he said quietly, his voice suddenly calmer, "but you've got to have a reason to do it. There's no point in living if you don't have anything worth living for.”

“When you die, do you want to feel ashamed of what you've done with your life? Feel ashamed of what your life meant?”

“You're alive, Bod. That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you can change the world, the world will change. Potential. Once you're dead, it's gone. Over. You've made what you've made, dreamed your dream, written your name. You may be buried here, you may even walk. But that potential is finished.”

“My dear fellow why have you any reason? What odd chaps you painters are. You do anything in the world to gain a reputation. As soon as you have one you seem to want to throw it away. It is silly of you for there is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.”