Here my powers rest from their high fantasy, but already I could feel my being turned- instinct and intellect balanced equally. as in a wheel whose motion nothing jars- by the Love that moves the Sun and the other stars.

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

Three things remain with us from paradise: stars, flowers and children.

This sorrow weighs upon the melancholy souls of those who lived without infamy or praise.

A fair request should be followed by the deed in silence.

Those ancients who in poetry presented the golden age, who sang its happy state, perhaps, in their Parnassus, dreamt this place. Here, mankind's root was innocent; and here were every fruit and never-ending spring; these streams--the nectar of which poets sing.

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