God Strung Up His Own Son Like

Wolves Which Batten Upon Lambs, Lambs Consumed By Wolves, The Strong Who Immolate The Weak, The Weak Victims Of The Strong: There You Have Nature, There You Have Her Intentions, There You Have Her Scheme: A Perpetual Action And Reaction, A Host Of Vices, A Host Of Virtues, In One Word, A Perfect Equilibrium Resulting From The Equality Of Good And Evil On Earth.

It Is Always By Way Of Pain One Arrives At Pleasure.

Happiness Lies Neither In Vice Nor In Virtue; But In The Manner We Appreciate The One And The Other, And The Choice We Make Pursuant To Our Individual Organization.

Consider The Problem From The Point Of View Of Evil, Evil Being Almost Always Pleasure's True And Major Charm; Considered Thus, The Crime Must Appear Greater When Perpetrated Upon A Being Of Your Identical Sort Than When Inflicted Upon One Which Is Not, And This Once Established, The Delight Automatically Doubles.

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