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You think God will never forgive you, but the only God is beauty and beauty always forgives. It forgives with its infinite indifference.

Glen Duncan

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Glen Duncan
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: October 17
Author
Bookseller
Novelist
Writer
Glen A. Duncan
Saul Black
Forgive
Forgiving
Infinite
Beauty
Always
Never
Think
Forgives
Thinking
Indifference

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Pain revealed the paltry dimensions of love. The paltry dimensions of everything, in fact, except pain.
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One day the ordinariness will be terminally punctuated by the extraordinary full stop of death.
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Once you've stopped loving someone breaking his or her heart's just an unpleasant chore you have to get behind you. My God, you really don't love me anymore, do you? No matter your decency the victim's incredulity's potentially hilarious. You manage not to laugh.
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Poets suffer occasional delusions of angelhood and find themselves condemned to express it in the bric-a-brac tongues of the human world. Lots of them go mad.
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Just because life's meaningless doesn't mean we can't experience it meaningfully.
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You love life because life's all there is.
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Words betrayed her: beautiful butterflies in her mind dead moths when she opened her mouth for their release into the world.
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We go to the past to lay the blame - since the past can't argue. We go to our past selves to account for our present miseries.
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The rain's been racing earthwards as if with some religious or political fanaticism. The clouds have the look of dark internal bleeding. Surely you lot look up from Cosmo while this sort of thing's going on? Surely you take a Playstation break?
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Grace only exists to be fallen from.
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I'm an American. We're a people diseased with progress.
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Coffee justifies the existence of the word 'aroma'.
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Life, like the boring drunk at the office party, keeps seeking you out, leaning on you, killing you with pointless yarns and laughing bad-breathed in your face at its own unfunny jokes.
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Literature is humanity's broad-minded alter-ego, with room in its heart for monsters, even for you. It's humanity without the judgement.
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The flesh had infinity in it. I must know every inch by touch yet every inch renewed its mystery the instant my hand moved on. Delightful endless futility.
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One develops an instinct for letting silence do the heavy lifting. In the three, four, five seconds that passed without either of us speaking, the many ways the conversation could go came and went like time-lapse film of flowers blooming and dying.
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Kneecaps only exist to get hit with claw-hammers grace only exists to be fallen from.
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Your ideal possession candidate's a thirteen-year-old recently orphaned schizophrenic girl three days away from her period on her way to see the shrink with whom she's romantically besotted.
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No amount of violence you've done to others prepares you for violence done to yourself.
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What interests me is love, sex, death, cruelty, compassion and the desire for meaning in an apparently godless universe. In other words the human condition.
Glen Duncan