All those large dreams by which men long live well Are magic-lanterned on the smoke of hell. - William Empson

Your rights reach down where all owners meet, in Hell's
Pointed exclusive conclave, at earth’s centre
(Your spun farm's root still on that axis dwells);
And up, through galaxies, a growing sector.

Twixt devil and deep sea, man hacks his caves;
Birth, death; one, many; what is true, and seems;
Earth's vast hot iron, cold space's empty waves.

The central function of imaginative literature is to make you realize that other people act on moral convictions different from your own.