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.

And we came forth to contemplate the stars.

O mortal men, be wary of how ye judge.

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

If a thief helps a poor man out of the spoils of his thieving, we must not call that charity.

The man who lies asleep will never waken fame.

Thy soul is by vile fear assailed, which oft so overcasts a man, that he recoils from noblest resolution, like a beast at some false semblance in the twilight gloom.