As the geometer intently seeks to square the circle, but he cannot reach, through thought on thought, the principle he needs, so I searched that strange sight.

What shall one do with the verse, if he knows not That?

Follow your own star!

Through me the way into the suffering city, Through me the way to the eternal pain, Through me the way that runs among the lost. Justice urged on my high artificer; My maker was divine authority, The highest wisdom, and the primal love. Before me nothing but eternal things were made, And I endure eternally. Abandon every hope, ye who enter here.

Like the lark that soars in the air, first singing, then silent, content with the last sweetness that satiates it, such seemed to me that image, the imprint of the Eternal Pleasure.

In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost.

This mountain is so formed that it is always wearisome when one begins the ascent, but becomes easier the higher one climbs.