The joke on me is the joke on everyone: youth makes life mythic; then leaves. If you’re lucky, first love comes along and makes it mythic again. Then leaves. For a few God, the fit having inexplicably taken Him, steps in and makes life mythic again. Then most likely leaves. For the rest only death – the mother’s funeral, the aftershaved doctor and the test results – retains the heft to make life mythic again, and that’s an awfully high price to pay.
– The Bloodstone Papers, p. 105
He’s a writer obsessed with death and God, so I’m glad my friend introduced me to him.