Dante Alighieri Quotes
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Lying in a featherbed will bring you no 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.
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A man's renown is like the hue of grass, Which comes and goes.
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Of my sowing such straw I reap. O human folk, why set the heart there where exclusion of partnership is necessary.
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Stand firm as the tower that never shakes its top whatever wind may blow.
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Knowledge comes Of learning well retain'd, unfruitful else.
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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.
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Pure essence, and pure matter, and the two joined into one were shot forth without flaw, like three bright arrows from a three-string bow.
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There is a gentle thought that often springs to life in me, because it speaks of you.
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There is in hell a place stone-built throughout, Called Malebolge, of an iron hue, Like to the wall that circles it about.
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Not one drop of blood is left inside my veins that does not throb: I recognize signs of the ancient flame.
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Follow your path, and let the people talk.
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This miserable way is taken by the sorry souls of those who lived without disgrace and without praise. They now commingle with the coward angels, the company of those who were not rebels nor faithful to their God, but stood apart. The heavens, that their beauty not be lessened, have cast them out, nor will deep Hell receive them - even the wicked cannot glory in them.
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At grief so deep the tongue must wag in vain; the language of our sense and memory lacks the vocabulary of such pain.
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There, pride, avarice, and envy are the tongues men know and heed, a Babel of despair.
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Consider the sea's listless chime: Time's self it is, made audible.
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He who sees a need and waits to be asked for help is as unkind as if he had refused it.
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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.
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In judgement be ye not too confident, Even as a man who will appraise his corn When standing in a field, ere it is ripe.
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Nothing which is harmonized by the bond of the Muse can be changed from its own to another language without destroying its sweetness.
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They had their faces twisted toward their haunches and found it necessary to walk backward, because they could not see ahead of them. ...And since he wanted so to see ahead, he looks behind and walks a backward path.
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O you, who in some pretty boat, Eager to listen, have been following Behind my ship, that singing sails along Turn back to look again upon your own shores; Tempt not the deep, lest unawares, In losing me, you yourselves might be lost. The sea I sail has never yet been passed; Minerva breathes, and pilots me Apollo, And Muses nine point out to me the Bears. You other few who have neck uplifted Betimes to the bread of angels upon Which one lives and does not grow sated, Well may you launch your vessel Upon the deep sea.
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In that part of the book of my memory before which little can be read, there is a heading, which says: ‘Incipit vita nova: Here begins the new life’.
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I saw within Its depth how It conceives All things in a single volume bound by Love of which the universe is the scattered leaves.
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Love and the gentle heart are but the same thing.