“He had never believed that spirituality had to be anemic or aesthetic.”

“He had everything, but he possessed nothing. There is the spiritual secret.”

“One last chance. That’s all I’m asking.” He had lost count of the number of last chances he had wasted. “Just one more. God!” He had never believed in God for an instant. “Fates!” He had never believed in Fates either. “Anyone!” He had never believed in anything much beyond the next drink. “Just one… more… chance.”“Alright. One more.”Cosca blinked. “God? Is that… you?”Someone chuckled. A woman’s voice, and a sharp, mocking, most ungodlike sort of a chuckle. “You can kneel if you like, Cosca.”

“I don't know whom or what he was defying. [...] [M]aybe the God he had never believed in.”

“Nature holds the key to our aesthetic, intellectual, cognitive and even spiritual satisfaction.”

“He had lived (without being aware of it) on those spiritual truths that he had sucked in with his mother's milk, but he had thought, not merely without recognition of these truths, but studiously ignoring them. ”