An excerpt from my new Bible: Kurt Vonnegut's A MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY
The crucified planet Earth, should it find a voice and a sense of irony, might now well say of our abuse of it, "Forgive them Father, they know not what they do." The irony of it would be that we KNOW what we are doing. When the last living thing has died on account of us, how poetical it would be if Earth could say, in a voice floating up perhaps from the floor of the Grand Canyon, "It is done. PEOPLE did not like it here."
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