Some people, he thought, simply have no will to survive—they’re walking hors d’oeuvres waiting for someone who can spare the time to devour them. - Tim Powers

Rivas smiled, remembering his response to his first taking of the Jaybird sacrament—while the rest of the recovering communicants had been praising the Lord Jaybush and making sure they knew when the sacrament would be administered again so as not to miss it, young Gregorio Rivas, though stunned, exhausted and glad to have found shelter and company, was coldly appraising the situation. He didn’t doubt that the mysterious Norton Jaybush was certainly more than a man and possibly a god, but the prospect of abandoning his individuality in order to “merge with the Lord” was profoundly repugnant to him.

When you get to where I am—"
"I'll never get to where you are. I'll make better choices."
"Choices! You don't get choices, you get...situations that you react to—the actual cumulative you reacts, with whatever half-ass wiring you've got at the time, not some hovering 'soul.' You're a mercury switch—if the spring tilts you to the right degree, you complete a circuit, and if it's got metal fatigue, it tilts you less, and you don't. You don't have free will, sonny."
"Of course I do, of course you do, what kind of excuse—"
"Bullshit. If—" The older Marrity was panting. "If a scientist could know every last detail of your physiology and life experiences, he could predict with absolute accuracy every 'choice' you'd make in any moral quandary."
Quandary! To Marrity the sentence sounded as if it had been prepared ahead of time. Not for talking to me, he thought, this old wretch couldn't have anticipated talking to me—he must have cooked it up for his own solace.
"Laplace's determinist manifesto," came another man's languid voice from the background. "it overlooks Heisenberg's uncertainty."
"Okay," said the older Marrity furiously, "then it's probability and statistics that dictate what we'll do! But it's not—"
"It's a sin," said Marrity, breathing deeply himself. To Daphne he projected a vague cluster of images—hugging her, holding her hand—and he was able to have more confidence in his reassurance now.
"Said the fourth domino to the twenty-first!" exclaimed the older Marrity, laughing angrily. "'Ah, wilt Thou with predestination round / Enmesh me and impute my fall to sin?'

He felt as if someone far away below in the darkness was chipping away at the pillars of his mind, and the steady crack...crack...crack of it was the only sound in the universe.