Thence we came forth to rebehold the stars.
O human race, born to fly upward, wherefore at a little wind dost thou so fall?
As phantoms frighten beasts when shadows fall.
Until he shall have driven her back to Hell,
There is no greater sorrow then to recall our times of joy in wretchedness.
Oh blind, oh ignorant, self-seeking cupidity whcih spurs as so in the short mortal life and steeps as through all eternity.
From there we came outside and saw the stars
Through me you go into a city of weeping; through me you go into eternal pain; through me you go amongst the lost people
That with him were, what time the Love Divine
Here pity only lives when it is dead - Virgil
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.
The day that man allows true love to appear, those things which are well made will fall into cofusion and will overturn everything we believe to be right and true.
If i thought i was replying to someone who would every return to the world, this flame would cease it's flickering. But since no one has returned from these depths alive, if what I've heard is true, I will answer you without fear of infamy.
Ye who enter,abandon all hope.
The devil is not as black as he is painted.
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.
And as he, who with laboring breath has escaped from the deep to the shore, turns to the perilous waters and gazes.
The man who lies asleep will never waken fame, and his desire and all his life drift past him like a dream, and the traces of his memory fade from time like smoke in air, or ripples on a stream.
Lying in a featherbed will not bring you fame, nor staying beneath the quilt, and he who uses up his life without achieving fame leaves no more vestige of himself on earth than smoke in the air or foam upon the water.
For she doth make my veins and pulses tremble.
The mind which is created quick to love, is responsive to everything that is pleasing, soon as by pleasure it is awakened into activity. Your apprehensive faculty draws an impression from a real object, and unfolds it within you, so that it makes the mind turn thereto. And if, being turned, it inclines towards it, that inclination is love; that is nature, which through pleasure is bound anew within you.
Omnes relinquite spes, o vos intrantes
I found myself within a forest dark, for the straightfoward pathway had been lost. Ah me! How hard a thing is to say, what was this forest savage, rough, and stern, which in the very thought renews the fear. So bitter is it, death is little more...
The more a thing is perfect, the more if feels pleasure and pain.
On march the banners of the King of Hell.
Into the eternal darkness, into fire and into ice.
There, pride, avarice, and envy are the tongues men know and heed, a Babel of depsair
One ought to be afraid of nothing other then things possessed of power to do us harm, but things innoucuous need not be feared.
Love, that exempts no one beloved from loving, seized me with pleasure of this man so strongly, that, as thou seest, it doth not yet desert me.
And when he had put his hand on mine with a cheerful look, wherefrom I took courage, he brought me within to the secret things. Here sighs, laments, and deep wailings were resounding through the starless air; wherefore at first I wept thereat. Strange tongues, horrible utterances, words of woe, accents of anger, voices high and faint, and sounds of hands with them, were making a tumult which whirls always in that air forever dark, like the sand when the whirlwind breathes.
More Dante Alighieri Quotations (Based on Topics)
Hope - Love - Pain - Sadness - Hell - Man - Anger - Nature - Pride - Eternity - Wisdom & Knowledge - Fame - Cry - God - Kings & Queens - Envy & Jealousy - Greed - Fire - Life - View All Dante Alighieri Quotations
More Dante Alighieri Quotations (By Book Titles)
- The Divine Comedy
Walt Whitman - T. S. Eliot - Rabindranath Tagore - e. e. cummings - Alexander Pope - W. H. Auden - Samuel Taylor Coleridge - Max Jacob - Henrik Ibsen - Euripides