And the destroyers had moved up a floor. Streaks of light came in through the closed shutters where they worked with the seriousness of creators — and destruction after all is a form of creation. A kind of imagination had seen this house as it had now become. […] The last burning note illuminated his brooding face. “All this hate and love,” he said “it’s soft, it’s hooey. There’s only things.~ from Graham Greene’s The Destructors. If you’ve never read it, go read it.
