Quoted in:
Actor:
— What are you?
— Oh, I have so many names...
— Satan.
— Call me Dad.
— Guilt...it's like a bag of fucking bricks. All you got to do...is set it down. I know what you're going through. I've been there. Just come here. Come here. Let it go. Who are you carrying all those bricks for? God? Is that it? God? I'll tell you...let me give you a little inside information about God. He's a prankster. Think about it. He gives man instincts. He gives you this extraordinary gift, and then what does He do? I swear, for his own amusement...his own private, cosmic...gag reel. He sets the rules in opposition. It's the goof of all time. Look, but don't touch. Touch, but don't taste. Taste, but don't swallow. And while you're jumping from one foot to the next, what is He doing? He's laughing his sick, fucking ass off! He's a tightass! He's a sadist! He's an absentee landlord! Worship that? Never!
— "Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven," is that it?
— Why not? I'm here on the ground with my nose in it since the whole thing began! I've nurtured every sensation man has been inspired to have! I cared about what he wanted and I never judged him! Why? Because I never rejected him, in spite of all his imperfections! I'm a fan of man! I'm a humanist. Maybe the last humanist. Who, in their right mind... Kevin, could possibly deny....the 20th century was entirely mine? All of it, Kevin! All of it. Mine. I'm peaking, Kevin. It's my time now. It's our time.
You sharpen the human appetite...to the point where it can split atoms with its desire. You build egos the size of cathedrals. Fiber-optically connect the world to every eager impulse. Grease even the dullest dreams with these dollar-green...gold-plated fantasies until every human becomes an aspiring emperor...becomes his own god. As we're scrambling...from one deal to the next...who's got his eye on the planet? As the air thickens, the water sours...even bees' honey takes on the metallic taste of radioactivity. There's no chance to think, to prepare. It's buy futures, sell futures...when there is no future. We got a runaway train, boy. We got a billion Eddie Barzoons all jogging into the future. Every one of them is getting ready to fistfuck God's ex-planet...lick their fingers clean...as they reach out toward their pristine... cybernetic keyboards...to tote up their fucking billable hours. And then it hits home. You got to pay your own way, Eddie. It's a little late in the game to buy out now. <...> Maybe God threw the dice once too often. Maybe He let us all down.
— Different when you're Looking down, isn't it?
— Yes, it is.
