These have not the hope to die.
Curb your talent lest it speed where virtue does not guide.
This sorrow weighs upon the melancholy souls of those who lived without infamy or praise.
There is a place in Hell called the Malebolge.
These dwell among the blackest souls,loaded down deep by sins of differing types.If you sink far enough,you'll see them all.
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.