These and all else you can imagine, are but shadows and similitudes (as I myself heard one upon the rack of terror of conscience cry out, in a like comparison, These are but metaphors to what I feel), and indeed unto what the thing itself is. As to say of heaven, there are rivers of pleasures, a city whereof the streets are of gold, the gates of pearl, and such like, they are but metaphorical descriptions; for it is God himself that is the fountain of life. And oppositely it is said of the wrath to come, that 'God is a consuming fire,