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Quote by Peter Ackroyd

“The gateway to the underworld is seen as part antiquity and part theatre. Welcome to the lower depths.”

Author

Peter Ackroyd is a renowned British biographer known for his in-depth research and vivid storytelling. Born on October 5, 1949, he has been writing about historical figures in Britain since the 1970s, including Thomas More, Charles Dickens, and George Orwell. more

“So if the Infernum is an empy interior, what's Heaven in their conception?" I asked, nudging him. "A second inside-out house, inside, or rather 'outside' the first," he said. "If you cross its threshold, you realize our world, for all its wonder, has been but a shdow, another kind of empitness. Heaven is more than this.”

Hell Heaven And Hell

Book:Shadow Scale

Source: Shadow Scale

“Each step you take from Jesus Christ, brings you closer to hell.”

Jesus Christ Hell Step

Book:Face to Face Meetings with Jesus Christ 2: Preparing for God's Paradise

Source: Face to Face Meetings with Jesus Christ 2: Preparing for God's Paradise

“What?' He cried, darting at him a look of fury: 'Dare you still implore the Eternal's mercy? Would you feign penitence, and again act an Hypocrite's part? Villain, resign your hopes of pardon. Thus I secure my prey!' As He said this, darting his talons into the Monk's shaven crown, He sprang with him from the rock. The Caves and mountains rang with Ambrosio's shrieks. The Daemon continued to soar aloft, till reaching a dreadful height, He released the sufferer. Headlong fell the Monk through the airy waste; The sharp point of a rock received him; and He rolled from precipice to precipice, till bruised and mangled He rested on the river's banks. Life still existed in his miserable frame: He attempted in vain to raise himself; His broken and dislocated limbs refused to perform their office, nor was He able to quit the spot where He had first fallen. The Sun now rose above the horizon; Its scorching beams darted full upon the head of the expiring Sinner. Myriads of insects were called forth by the warmth; They drank the blood which trickled from Ambrosio's wounds; He had no power to drive them from him, and they fastened upon his sores, darted their stings into his body, covered him with their multitudes, and inflicted on him tortures the most exquisite and insupportable. The Eagles of the rock tore his flesh piecemeal, and dug out his eyeballs with their crooked beaks. A burning thirst tormented him; He heard the river's murmur as it rolled beside him, but strove in vain to drag himself towards the sound. Blind, maimed, helpless, and despairing, venting his rage in blasphemy and curses, execrating his existence, yet dreading the arrival of death destined to yield him up to greater torments, six miserable days did the Villain languish. On the Seventh a violent storm arose: The winds in fury rent up rocks and forests: The sky was now black with clouds, now sheeted with fire: The rain fell in torrents; It swelled the stream; The waves overflowed their banks; They reached the spot where Ambrosio lay, and when they abated carried with them into the river the Corse of the despairing Monk.”

Religion Hell Horror Devil Punishment Hypocrisy Insects Monk Gruesome The Sublime

Author:Matthew Lewis

“At det var synddag betød også, at Satinas far var hjemme. Og det betød, at hele huset emmede af sådan et raseri, at man næsten kunne lugte det. Sortehorn befandt sig ude på badeværelset, og hans mørke røst hørtes som en konstant buldren: ≫Først skal trapperne vaskes, så skal der støvsuges, så skal lokummet renses og så og så og så… Man skulle jo kraftedeme tro, at jeg var død og kommet i Helvede. Men næ nej, jeg er såmænd bare gift. Ja, gift. Det er sgu lige, hvad det er. Ren, ufortyndet gift≪”