"If there is God—and I ask you, why not?—I imagine him to look just like me, Zorba. Only bigger, stronger and crazier. And more permanent. His house is the sky. The walls are clouds and the floor is covered with sheepskins. And there he sits, very comfortable, like a pasha. In his right hand he holds something which is not a sword and not a pair of scales either. Only killers and grocers have any use for such things. No sir. He holds a big sponge, dripping with water like a raincloud. On his right side, there is Paradise. On his left, Hell. ... Suddenly, a soul arrives. Naked poor thing and shivering with cold. God looks at the soul and smiles under his big moustaches. But he plays tough. "Come here," he says, putting on his special deep voice. "Come here, you no good tramp, you miserable worm. Confess!" "Have a heart, dear God," the soul cries, "Be merciful." And off she goes. She tells him one thing, then another, then another. And still there is no end to the bloody sins. Talk, talk, talk, talk. God gets bored. He yawns. "Shut up!" he shouts. "You give me a headache." And flop, flop with a sponge... and he wipes out all the sins. "Enough! Clear out, to Paradise. Quick! Hey, Peter, here's another one for you! ... [smiles and strokes beard] Poor little soul." ... That's God for you: a king, a great big king. And you know what it means to be a king?"