'Around the Godde there forms a Shells of prayers and Ceremonies and Buildings and Priestes and Authority, until at Last the Godde Dies. And this may notte be .'
'Belief, he says. Belief shifts. People start out believing in the god and end up believing in the .'
…he was conscious of a certain heaviness of mind, a feeling that he turned his head sharply the memory would out of his ears.
'...we'll get him on top of a slab and when the starts on him you can brain it with a rock. He'll probably get away with an arm or a leg. He'll never miss it.'
It looked like other birds looked after an oil slick. Nothing ate scalbies, except scalbies. They ate things that made vultures sick. Scalbies would eat vulture sick.
The figures looked more or less human. And they were engaged in . You could tell by the knives. (it's not murder if you do it for a god).
Humans have always wasted handy ever since they started wondering who had lived in it.
But, on the whole, there are worse places to be buried than inside a lion.
The lion was feeling odd sensations of gratitude. It felt it should catch up with the nice food that had tended to it and, well, refrain from eating it in some way.
The Quisition always found it to leave a few suspects at large. Then you knew where to find them when you needed them.
The last man who knew how it worked had been tortured to death years before. Or as soon as it was installed. Killing the creator was a traditional method of protection.
Give anyone a lever long enough and they can change the world. It's levers that are the problem.
He saw Vorbis turn his cheek, and smile.
Brutha stopped, and lowered his hand.
He said, 'No, I .'
'…he dies anyway and we die too? What difference does it make?'
Urn's face was with horror now.
'You mean you don't know?'
The Great God rose over the Temple, billowing and changing as the of thousands of people flowed into him.
'That's why gods . They never believe in people. But you have a chance. All you need to do is...believe.'
'No. Men should die for . But the truth is too precious to die for.'
Death took no pleasure in his job, it was an emotion he found hard to grasp. But there was such a thing as .
The desert was what you believe.
Vorbis looked himself.
And kept on looking.
'We get the gods we deserve,' said Brutha, 'And I don't think we deserve any. Stupid. Stupid. The man I've met this year lives up a pole in the desert.'
'Yes, I know. He's Vorbis,' said Brutha. Vorbis changed people. Sometimes he changed them into people
But he always changed them. That was his triumph.
'But I'm me'
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