Vision of Hell by Maria Valtorta

The men of this time no longer believe in the existence of hell. They have devised something beyond their taste and such as to be less terrifying to their conscience worthy of much punishment. More or less faithful disciples of the Spirit of Evil, they know that their conscience would withdraw from certain misdeeds, if they really believed in Hell as Faith teaches it to be; they know that their conscience, after a wrongful act, would have returns in itself and in remorse it would find repentance, in fear it would find repentance and with repentance the way to return to Me.

I told you that Purgatory is a fire of love. Hell is penalty fire.
Purgatory is a place where, by thinking of God, whose Essence shone upon you at the moment of the particular judgment and filled you with desire to possess it, you expiate the lack of love for the Lord your God. Through love you conquer Love, and through ever more burning degrees of charity wash your garment until it becomes white and shiny to enter the kingdom of Light whose splendor I have shown you days ago.
Hell is a place where the thought of God, the memory of God glimpsed in the particular judgment is not, as for purgatives, holy desire, heartfelt nostalgia but full of hope, hope full of peaceful expectation, of sure peace that will reach perfection when it becomes a conquest of God, but already from the purgative spirit a hilarious purgative activity because every pain, every moment of pain, brings them closer to God, their love; but it is remorse, it is ruin, it is damnation, it is hate. I hate towards Satan, I hate towards men, I hate towards ourselves.

After loving it. Satan, in life, in my place, now that they possess it and see its true aspect, no longer hidden under the evil smile of the flesh, under the shining glitter of gold, under the powerful sign of supremacy, they hate it because of the their torment.
After having, forgetting their dignity as children of God, adored men to the point of making themselves murderers, thieves, barterers, merchants of garbage for them, now that they find their masters for whom they killed, stolen, cheated, sold their honor and the honor of many unhappy, weak, defenseless creatures, making them an instrument to the vice that beasts do not know - to lust, the attribute of man poisoned by Satan - now they hate them because of their torment.

After worshiping themselves by giving the flesh, blood, seven appetites of their flesh and blood all the satisfactions, trampling on the Law of God and the law of morality, they now hate each other because they see themselves as the cause of their torment.
The word Hate carpets that boundless realm; roars in those flames; scream in the chachinni of demons; sobs and latries in the lamentations of the damned; ring, ring, ring like an eternal hammer bell; it rings like an eternal whelk of death; it fills the recesses of that prison with itself; it is, of its own, torment, because with every sound it renews the memory of Love forever lost, the remorse of having wanted to lose it, the ruin of never being able to see it again. The dead soul, among those flames, like those bodies thrown into the bonfires or in a crematory oven, twists and screeches as animated again by a vital movement and awakens to understand its error, and dies and is reborn at any moment with atrocious sufferings, because remorse kills her in a blasphemy and killing brings her back to revive for a new torment. The whole crime of having betrayed God over time stands before the soul in eternity; all the mistake of having refused God in time stands for his torment present to it for eternity.
In the fire the flames simulate the larvae of what they adored in life, the passions are painted in hot brushstrokes with the most appetizing aspects, and they screech, they scream their memento: “You wanted the fire of the passions. Now have the fire lit by God whose holy Fire you have mocked. "
Fire responds to fire. In Paradise it is the fire of perfect love. In Purgatory it is a fire of purifying love. In Hell it is the fire of offended love. Since the elect loved perfectly, Love is given to them in its Perfection. Since the purgants loved lukewarmly, Love becomes flame to bring them to Perfection. For the accursed burned of all fires, less than the Fire of God, the Fire of the wrath of God burns them forever. And in the fire there is frost.

Oh! that it is Hell you cannot imagine. Take all that is man's torment on earth: fire, flame, frost, submerging waters, hunger, sleep, thirst, wounds, diseases, sores, death, and make it a single sum and multiply it millions of times. You will only have a larva of that terrible truth.
In the unsustainable ardor the sidereal frost will be mixed. The damned burned of all human fires having only spiritual chill for the Lord God. And frost awaits them to freeze them after the fire has salted them like fish roasted on a flame. Torment in torment this passing from ardor that melts to frost that condenses.

Oh! it is not a metaphorical language, since God can make that the souls, heavy of the sins committed, have sensibilities equal to those of a flesh, even before that flesh clothes. You don't know and don't believe. But in truth I tell you that it would be more convenient for you to suffer all the torments of my martyrs rather than an hour of those infernal tortures.
Darkness will be the third torment. Material darkness and spiritual darkness. To be forever in darkness after having seen the light of paradise and to be in the embrace of Darkness after having seen the Light that is God ”Debate in that dark horror in which only the name of sin lights up, with the reverberation of the burnt spirit so there are horror in it! Do not find a foothold in that remixing of spirits who hate and harm each other, other than in the desperation that makes them mad and increasingly cursed. Feed on it, lean on it, kill yourself with it. Death will feed death, it is said. Despair is death and will feed these dead for eternity.