"No matter what I said they insisted on thinking of God as something outside themselves. Something that yearns to take every indolent moron to His breast and comfort him. The notion that the effort has to be their own . . . and that all the trouble they are in is of their own doing . . . is one that they can't or won't entertain."
~Stranger in a Strange Land
and a related bit of Sandman...
And the mortals! I ask you - why?
Tell me that - why?
Why do they blame me for all their little failings?
They use my name as if I spend my entire day sitting on their shoulders, forcing them to commit acts they would otherwise find repulsive.
"The devil made me do it."
I have never made one of them do anything.
They live their own tiny lives. I do not live their lives for them.
And then they die, and they come here (having transgressed against what they believed to be right), and expect us to fulfill their desire for pain and retribution.
I don't make them come here.
They talk of me going around and buying souls, like a fishwife come market day, never stopping to ask why.
I need no souls.
And how can anyone own a soul?
No. They belong to themselves...
... they just hate to have to face up to it.
~Lucifer, in Neil Gaiman's Sandman: Season of Mists