Are you at all religious, I asked him?
“Religion is all bunk. ... If you’re really religious, you can’t think for yourself.”
Would you call yourself an atheist?
What do you think happens when we die?
“You stink. You rot and stink.”
He laughed. “What’s a soul?”
I don’t know what’s the way to go. But after an hour, I knew I wouldn’t want to go via Jack Kevorkian, a man for whom the world is bleak, happiness is rare, belief is a waste of time and life is a finite, meaningless entity. The act he champions may indeed be one of compassion, but how can it be delivered by such a cold, cold heart?