You Owe It To Everyone

And What Have You Laymen Made Of Hell? A Kind Of Penal Servitude For Eternity, On The Lines Of Your Convict Prisons On Earth, To Which You Condemn In Advance All The Wretched Felons Your Police Have Hunted From The Beginning - Enemies Of Society, As You Call Them. You're Kind Enough To Include The Blasphemers And The Profane. What Proud Or Reasonable Man Could Stomach Such A Notion Of God's Justice? And When You Find That Notion Inconvenient It's Easy Enough For You To Put It On One Side. Hell Is Not To Love Any More, Madame. Not To Love Any More!

Fear, True Fear, Is A Savage Frenzy. Of All The Insanities Of Which We Are Capable, It Is Surely The Cruelest. There Is Naught To Equal Its Drive, And Naught Can Survive Its Thrust.

When Writing Of Oneself One Should Show No Mercy. Yet Why At The First Attempt To Discover One's Own Truth Does All Inner Strength Seem To Melt Away In Floods Of Self-pity And Tenderness And Rising Tears?

If Hell Has No Answer For The Questioning Dead, It Is Not Because It Refuses To Answer (for Rigorous, Alas, In Observance, Is The Imperishable Fire), But It Is Because Hell Has Nothing To Say, Will Say Nothing Eternally.

It Is The Perpetual Dread Of Fear, The Fear Of Fear, That Shapes The Face Of A Brave Man.