The wisest are the most annoyed at the loss of time.

These have not the hope to die.

Not one drop of blood is left inside my veins that does not throb: I recognize signs of the ancient flame.

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.

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

Art, as far as it is able, follows nature, as a pupil imitates his master; thus your art must be, as it were, God's grandchild.

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