A perfect world or a world destroyed, one or the other- someday will come the end of hell.

Should we put out the light? And then put out the light. But once put out thy light, I cannot give it vital breath again. It needs must wither.

We're frightened of what makes us different.

I don't believe in anything, Mother," I said. "You told Armand long ago that you believe you'll find answers in the great jungles and forests; that the stars will finally reveal a vast truth. But I don't believe in anything. And that makes me stronger than you think

Come on, say it again. I'm a perfect devil. Tell me how bad I am. It makes me feel so good!

I have to move away from organized religion. The toxic confusion and anger I was feeling in church had become too great.

Aren't there gradations of evil? Is evil a great perilous gulf into which one falls with the first sin, plummeting to the depth?