…when writing, always hook the reader with your first sentence…in love, never settle…value yourself first and this will help you to value others…life… - Spider Robinson

If you've lived a bad life, they send you to Hell. But if you've been truly wicked, they give you a tour of
Heaven first...

She hadn’t said it like a joke or hyperbole. “In this country it is,” Arethusa replied seriously, and reached to take the peach juice I gave her, one of her after the other. She smiled at me. “I don’t see why,” Lady Sally said. “Pacifists — and anarchists, and libertarians — specifically repudiate the right of the state to employ armed agents — to protect them from murder, for instance. So shooting one ought to be no worse than a misdemeanor. ‘Disturbing the peace,’ say, or ‘frivolous discharge of a firearm.’ ” “ ‘Unlicensed hunting,’ maybe,” I suggested. “They’re not restricted,” she pointed out. “As long as you eat the meat, and clean up after…” “I’m particular about what I eat,” I said. “But I will kill this bunch. If you can help me track ’em.” “Joseph,” Arethusa said plaintively, “when I decided to love you, I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty. Do you realize we’ve never gone an entire day without you announcing your intention to murder someone?” “People who plant nuclear mines in major population centers?” I said. “You bet I’ll kill them if I get a chance.” “No allowances for good intentions?” “None,” I said firmly. “Even if I stipulate that a world of enforced peace run by something like Weathermen with nukes is a good intention — and I don’t — nobody elected these clowns to do the job. They don’t have the right. Even a tyrant rules by consent of his people, no matter how difficult he makes it for them to withhold it. He rules openly, a fair target for any assassin. But these vermin are worse than a well-poisoner.” She bit her lip. Then she shrugged. “You’re right,” she said, “but I want you to promise me that you’ll give up murdering people once we’re married.

“You know,” he said with a dangerous high note in his voice, “in all the nine years the prayers never stopped rising from that filthy little cell. For the first three years we prayed that someone would depose El Supremo. For approximately the next three years Mary prayed constantly that my faith in God would return. Then, for about a year I prayed to I-don’t-know-who that Mary would live. And after malaria took her, I spent my time praying to anyone who would listen for a chance to kill El Supremo with my own hands.”