I've Been To Hell. You've Only Read

There Are Thorns Everywhere, But Along The Path Of Vice, Roses Bloom Above Them.

For Mortal Men There Is But One Hell, And That Is The Folly And Wickedness And Spite Of His Fellows; But Once His Life Is Over, There's An End To It: His Annihilation Is Final And Entire, Of Him Nothing Survives.

If Nature Denies Eternity To Beings, It Follows That Their Destruction Is One Of Her Laws. Now, Once We Observe That Destruction Is So Useful To Her That She Absolutely Cannot Dispense With It From This Moment Onward The Idea Of Annihilation Which We Attach To Death Ceases To Be Real What We Call The End Of The Living Animal Is No Longer A True Finish, But A Simple Transformation, A Transmutation Of Matter. According To These Irrefutable Principles, Death Is Hence No More Than A Change Of Form, An Imperceptible Passage From One Existence Into Another.

Beauty Belongs To The Sphere Of The Simple, The Ordinary, Whilst Ugliness Is Something Extraordinary, And There Is No Question But That Every Ardent Imagination Prefers In Lubricity, The Extraordinary To The Commonplace

If The Objects Who Serve Us Feel Ecstacy, They Are Much More Often Concerned With Themselves Than With Us, And Our Own Enjoyment Is Consequently Impaired. The Idea Of Seeing Another Person Experience The Same Pleasure Reduces One To A Kind Of Equality Which Spoils The Unutterable Charms That Come From Despotism.