[t]he Cradle Is Shallower Than The Grave.

The World Is Eaten Up By Boredom. You Can't See It All At Once. It Is Like Dust. You Go About And Never Notice, You Breathe It In, You Eat And Drink It. It Is Sifted So Fine, It Doesn't Even Grit On Your Teeth. But Stand Still For An Instant And There It Is, Coating Your Face And Hands.

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!

Chantal's Only Ruse ... Was Her Shattering Simplicity. While A Weak Man Or An Imposter Is Always More Complicated Than The Problem He Is Trying To Solve, And Thinking To Encompass His Adversary, Merely Keeps Prowling Interminably Around Himself, The Heroic Nature Will Throw Itself Into The Heart Of The Danger To Turn It To Its Own Use, Just As Captured Artillery Is Turned About And Aimed At The Backs Of The Fleeing Enemy.

Little Things Seem Nothing, But They Give Peace, Like Those Meadow Flowers Which Individually Seem Odorless But All Together Perfume The Air.

Appearances Are Nothing.... And First Of All They Should Not Be Feared, They Are Only Dangerous To The Weak.