Seneca's Soliloquy in Aurora book one

There is no happiness in being kind
where there is a pleasure in being cruel.
If that so. why must there be meaning in the state of love?
where true meaning appears in the proof of hatred state.
on equals.
there is no anger in the mist of weather here, that oppose me in the chair of clear clouds from the mind
just spectacles of dust from the dry dessert wasteland you could call a love
it a is illusion from the set to be free to reality.
A self restrained hatred, against the pleasure of another's agony
all theist alike wish you to perish blindly in their arbitrary hell
where the heavens alike resemble pure reality to my open eyes
a vision, only blinded by our perspectives
neither can tell. Apart  the demise. but not yet can december the knowledge of those others counter part views and perspectives alike
the second one of course...
the fear. in the instinct of us all.