Into every intelligence there is a door which is never closed, through which the creator passes. The intellect, seeker of absolute truth, or the heart, lover of absolute good, intervenes for our succor, and at one whisper of these high powers, we awake from ineffectual struggles with this nightmare. We hurl it into its own hell, and cannot again contract ourselves to so base a state.

There was a hell, and no matter where we moved to, I was in it.

Been through hell? What did you bring back for me?

Why am I in Hell? It hurts. It hurts all the time. Why am I in Hell? I just want to go home and lie on the bed the way I used to. Please take me home.

Hell is to love no longer.

There is a locked room up there, with an iron door that can't be opened. It has all our bad dreams in it. It is hell. Some say the devil locks the door from the inside. Some say the angels lock it from the outside. I would like to unlock that door, turn the rusty key and hold each fallen one in my arms, but I cannot, I cannot. I can only sit here on earth at my place at the table.

I will have to sink with hundreds of others on a dumbwaiter into hell.

Connecticut is the fifth ring of hell.

I swear there ain't no heaven, but I pray there ain't no hell.