" He didn’t reckon that God owed him anything. He reckoned that he’d had it all, and wasted it. Burning lakes and howling fiends had just never seemed that convincing, perils hardly fit to frighten naughty children.

He turned over, staring up at the darkess.

Damned…having found out now what hell was really like. "

― Laura Kinsale , Flowers from the Storm