Justice divine has weighed: the doom is clear. All hope renounce, ye lost, who enter here.

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

If you're asking for a date, forget it. 'Cause I make it a point not to go out with women who shoot me in the head!

O you proud Christians, wretched souls and small,/ Who by the dim lights of your twisted minds/ Believe you prosper even as you fall,/ Can you not see that we are worms, each one/ Born to become the angelic butterfly/ That flies defenseless to the Judgement Throne?

There is no greater pain than to remember, in our present grief, past happiness.

Often a retrospect delights the mind.

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.