Evil (n.) is always, in the Gospels, on the side of plurality and the crowd: the mob is the lie.
Evil (n.) pays those who covenant with it not only in power and glory — one can also win by it the love of men and be praised for one's love.
Evil (n.) has more power than we imagine because it is so silly to be good, so provincial not to be an initiate into the mysteries of sin — evil is largely the consequence of vainglorious comparison.
Evil (n.) cannot be understood without an understanding with it — there must first be an understanding between the knower and the known; offer evil a little finger out of curiosity and it takes the whole hand.
Evil (n.) is a lie and so without form, its life hovering over the abyss without foothold — yet surrounded by sin it thrives as in its own element.
Evil (n.) has no aesthetic interest, and sin is no aesthetic element: make the hero answerable for everything and he becomes not tragic but bad.
Evil (n.) can come seasoned with good nature and childishness, as in the aesthete — which is why one cannot really be angry with him.
Evil (n.) by nature has no continuity.
Evil (n.) is let alone by the aesthete only because it cannot be carried out ideally — not because it is bad or because he abhors it.
Evil (n.) is perhaps never more seductive than in aesthetic guise; it takes very high ethical seriousness never to construe it under aesthetic categories.
Evil (n.) has never been called a duty: the evildoer tries to make himself and others believe it was good — because the enemy is within him, not outside.
Evil (n.) defined as the negative is too much for logic and too little for ethics — it fits nowhere if it must fit both.
Evil (n.) is, at bottom, dreadful emptiness and contentlessness — strip away its ethical determinants and what remains is the trivial, which can easily turn comic.
Evil (n.) is like any weed: it sows itself, whereas the good seed needs care and labour, and when that is lacking the weeds come up of their own accord.