Do ye not comprehend that we are worms born to bring forth the angelic butterfly that flieth unto judgment without screen?

Heat cannot be separated from fire, or beauty from The Eternal.

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.

Conscience, that boon companion who sets a man free under the strong breastplate of innocence, that bids him on and fear not.

And here Dante describes an evidently spherical world... "The lamp of the world [the sun] rises to mortals through different passages; but through that which joins four circles with three crosses [the position of the rising sun at the vernal equinox] it issues with a better course and conjoined with better stars, and tempers and stamps the wax of the world more after its own fashion. Although such an outlet had made morning there and evening here, and all the hemisphere there was bright, and the other dark..."

The experience of this sweet life.

Worldly fame is but a breath of wind that blows now this way, and now that, and changes name as it changes direction.