Hell (n.) is known to every attentive person, but not all know their devil.
Hell (n.) is no mere destination — to journey to Hell means to become Hell oneself.
Hell (n.) is much nearer the earth than Heaven — though just as little happens in Heaven as in Hell, only in another way.
Hell (n.) at its deepest is realizing that Hell is also no Hell, but a cheerful Heaven — in this respect a Heaven, in that respect a Hell.
Hell (n.) is the infernal fire at the North Pole that drives the whole machinery of the world — and that infernal fire is nothing other than the hidden God.
Hell (n.) is knowing that what you must do is also what you want to do, and that the responsibility for it is yours.
Hell (n.) on the way to your beyond is your own: its bottom is knee-deep rubble, its air the spent breath of millions, its fires dwarflike passions, its devils chimerical sign-boards.
Hell (n.) is made of all the things you always ejected from your sanctuary with a curse and a kick; every Hell worth seeing or full of fun is never Hell.
Hell (n.) is particular to each: run after joy and you arrive at pleasure, and from pleasure go straight to your own Hell, which turns out differently for everyone.
Hell (n.) is the time when the depths come upon you with everything you are no longer, or not yet, able to bear; you must think, feel and do all that you know you do not want.