He is, most of all, l'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle.

Your fame is as the grass, whose hue comes and goes, and His might withers it by whose power it sprang from the lap of the earth.

These dwell among the blackest souls,loaded down deep by sins of differing types.If you sink far enough,you'll see them all.

Love, that all gentle hearts so quickly know.

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

O conscience, upright and stainless, how bitter a sting to thee is a little fault!

The path to paradise begins in hell.