Let me have it though it should kill my soul.

Hell is filled with unruly souls. 

It is the hurlyburly of existence they need, but with all their effort, they can never create sound. 

If never before they longed for a dull repose, they do so now, yet are keenly alive to its utter hopelessness.

They will hunt for tumult to all eternity, never hearing the sound they crave—

They also have their reward.

As light increases, so does the uneasy expectation of my heart. 

I tremble for the hour when the glory from the other side will flash across the gulf and strike my blinded eyes. 

I  shall have to see it! 

And paradise, as seen from hell, must be a sight most dread—most terrible—piercing the heart. 

Yet I long for it—

I groan for it—though the glimpse of bliss be fraught with exquisite torment; 

I hunger for it—

Let me have it, I cry, though it should kill my soul.

Letters from Hell, L. W. J. S., Richard Bentley & Son, London, 1889