We Are English, And I

In Each Of Us Lie Good And Bad, Light And Dark, Art And Pain, Choice And Regret, Cruelty And Sacrifice. We’re Each Of Us Our Own Chiaroscuro, Our Own Bit Of Illusion Fighting To Emerge Into Something Solid, Something Real. We’ve Got To Forgive Ourselves That. I Must Remember To Forgive Myself. Because There Is A Lot Of Grey To Work With. No One Can Live In The Light All The Time.

The Vicar, Whose Name Is Reverend Waite, Leads Us In Prayers That All Begin With 'o Lord' And End With Our Somehow Not Being Worthy-sinners Who Have Always Been Sinners And Will Forever More Be Sinners Until We Die. It Isn't The Most Optimistic Outlook I've Ever Heard But We're Encouraged To Keep Trying Anyway.

God Doesn't Like Lesbians," Grandma Huberman Hised, Throwing The Magazine In The Trash. Jennifer Knew What Lesbian Meant, And She Knew She Probably Was One. But She Couldn't Understand Why God Would Hold That Against Her Or Against Monica Mathers, Who'd Never Started A War Or Killed Anybody, And Whose Deadeye Three-pointers Were Straight-up Amazing. After All, Hadn't God Made Both Of Them? But People Were Like That, She'd Noticed. They'd Invoke Godly Privilege At The Weirdest Of Times And For The Most Stupid Reasons.

What You Want Can Be Yours. But You Must First Know What It Is You Want.

It's Always Darkest Before The Ultimate Sparkle.