There is in hell a place stone-built throughout, Called Malebolge, of an iron hue, Like to the wall that circles it about.
I am searching for that which every man seeks-peace and rest.
The splendors that belong unto the fame of earth are but a wind, that in the same direction lasts not long.
Seldom indeed does human virtue rise From trunk to branch.
The only fit reply to a fit request is silence and the fact.
Give unto us this day the daily manna Without which, in this desert where we dwell, He must go backward who would most advance.
O faithful conscience, delicately pure, how doth a little failing wound thee sore!
We are but a day in this world, and in that day the fashion is changed a thousand times: all seek liberty, yet all deprive themselves of it.
Love is the source of every virtue in you and of every deed which deserves punishment.
Less shame a greater fault would palliate.
It is necessity and not pleasure that compels us.
Reason flies When following the senses, on clipped wings.
As the geometer intently seeks to square the circle, but he cannot reach, through thought on thought, the principle he needs, so I searched that strange sight.
Doubting charms me not less than knowledge.
Be like a solid tower whose brave height remains unmoved by all the winds that blow; the man who lets his thoughts be turned aside by one thing or another, will lose sight of his true goal, his mind sapped of its strength.
Stand firm as the tower that never shakes its top whatever wind may blow.
We have no hope and yet we live in longing.
At this high moment, ability failed my capacity to describe.
The glory of Him who moves everything penetrates through the universe, and is resplendent in one part more and in another less.
O conscience, upright and stainless, how bitter a sting to thee is a little fault!