Midway along the journey of our life I woke to find myself in a dark wood, for I had wandered off from the straight path. How hard it is to tell what it was like, this wood of wilderness, savage and stubborn (the thought of it brings back all my old fears), a bitter place! Death could scarce be bitterer. But if I would show the good that came of it I must talk about things other than the good.

Curb your talent lest it speed where virtue does not guide.

Before me things created were none, save things Eternal, and eternal I endure. All hope abandon, ye who enter here.

Go right on and listen as thou goest.

From a little spark may burst a flame.

There is a place in Hell called the Malebolge.

There, pride, avarice, and envy are the tongues men know and heed, a Babel of depsair