Curb your talent lest it speed where virtue does not guide.

Conscience, that boon companion who sets a man free under the strong breastplate of innocence, that bids him on and fear not.

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

O power of fantasy that steals our minds from things outside, to leave us unaware, although a thousand trumpets may blow loud--what stirs you if the senses show you nothing? Light stirs you, formed in Heaven, by itself, or by His will Who sends it down to us.

Curb your talent lest it speed where virtue does not guide.

Because there is no man who can be true and just judge of himself, so much will self-love deceive him.

You shall leave everything you love.