As little flowers, which the chill of night has bent and huddled, when the white sun strikes, grow straight and open fully on their stems, so did I, too, with my exhausted force.

The whole universe is but the footprint of the Divine goodness.

All of nature is God's art.

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

In each fire there is a spirit; Each one is wrapped in what is burning him.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

Abandon hope, all ye who enter here. [Omnes relinquite spes, o vos intrantes]