To Be Able To Share In Another's

I Know The Compassion Of Others Is A Relief At First. I Don't Despise It. But It Can't Quench Pain, It Slips Through Your Soul As Through A Sieve. And When Our Suffering Has Been Dragged From One Pity To Another, As From One Mouth To Another, We Can No Longer Respect Or Love It.

It's A Fine Thing To Rise Above Pride, But You Must Have Pride In Order To Do So.

The Wish To Pray Is A Prayer In Itself.

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.

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!