Purgatorio

Thus you may understand that love alone is the true seed of every merit in you, and of all acts for which you must atone.

Now you know how much my love for you burns deep in me when I forget about our emptiness, and deal with shadows as with solid things.

Perceive ye not that we are worms, designed To form the angelic butterfly, that goes To judgment, leaving all defence behind? Why doth your mind take such exalted pose, Since ye, disabled, are as insects, mean As worm which never transformation knows?

Justice does not descend from its own pinnacle.

This mountain is so formed that it is always wearisome when one begins the ascent, but becomes easier the higher one climbs.

The weapons of divine justice are blunted by the confession and sorrow of the offender.

To course across more kindly waters now my talent's little vessel lifts her sails, leaving behind herself a sea so cruel; and what I sing will be that second kingdom, in which the human soul is cleansed of sin, becoming worthy of ascent to Heaven.

Madness it is to hope that human minds can ever understand the Infinite that comprehends Three Persons in One Being. Be satisfied with quia unexplained, O Human race! If you knew everything, no need for Mary to have borne a son.

My son, you've seen the temporary fire and the eternal fire; you have reached the place past which my powers cannot see. I've brought you here through intellect and art; from now on, let your pleasure be your guide; you're past the steep and past the narrow paths. Look at the sun that shines upon your brow; look at the grasses, flowers, and the shrubs born here, spontaneously, of the earth. Among them, you can rest or walk until the coming of the glad and lovely eyes-- those eyes that weeping, sent me to your side. Await no further word or sign from me: your will is free, erect, and whole-- to act against that will would be to err: therefore I crown and miter you over yourself

how short a time the fire of love endures in woman if frequent sight and touch do not rekindle it.

He who best discerns the worth of time is most distressed whenever time is lost.

Soft as the early morning breeze of May, which heralds dawn, rich with the grass and flowers, spreading in waves their breathing fragrances, I felt a breeze strike soft upon my brow: I felt a wing caress it, I am sure, I sensed the sweetness of ambrosia.

My son, Here may indeed be torment, but not death.

That infinite and indescribable good which is there above races as swiftly to love as a ray of light to a bright body. It gives of itself according to the ardor it finds, so that as charity spreads farther the eternal good increases upon it, and the more souls there are who love, up there, the more there are to love well, and the more love they reflect to each other, as in a mirror.

High justice would in no way be debased if ardent love should cancel instantly the debts these penitents must satisfy.

It is arguable that when Humanists, "Shook off," as people say, "the trammels of religion," and discovered things of this world as objects of veneration in their own right... they began to lose the finer appreciation of even the world itself. Thus to the Christian centuries, the flesh was holy (or sacer at least in one sense or the other), and they veiled its awful majesty; to the Humanist centuries it was divine in its own right, and they exhibited it. Now it is the commonplace of the magazine cover. It has lost its numen. So too with the cult of knowledge for its own sake declining from the Revival of Learning to the Brains Trust.

True love is never lost, not even by a bishop's or a priest's curse, that we cannot regain it, so long as hope has still its bit of green.

[on Purgatory] It is, of course, open to anyone to say that the whole idea is morbid and exaggerated--open even to those who think nothing of queuing for twenty-four hours in acute discomfort to see the first night of a musical comedy, which lasts three hours at most, which they are not sure of liking when they get there, and which they could see any other night with no trouble at all.

He, in his love songs, and his tales in prose, was without peer--and if fools claim Limoges produced a better, there are always those who measure worth by popular acclaim, ignoring principles of art and reason to base their judgments on the author's name.

…I am left with less than one drop of my blood that does not tremble. I recognize the the signs of the old flame.

O Virgins, sacrosanct, if I have ever, for your sake, suffered vigils,cold,, and hunger, great need makes me entreat my recompense.

Speak," said my Master, "and be not afraid Of speaking, but speak out, and say to him What he demands with such solicitude." Whence I: "Thou peradventure marvellest, O antique spirit, at the smile I gave; But I will have more wonder seize upon thee. This one, who guides on high these eyes of mine, Is that Virgilius, from whom thou didst learn To sing aloud of men and of the Gods. If other cause thou to my smile imputedst, Abandon it as false, and trust it was Those words which thou hast spoken concerning him." Already he was stooping to embrace My Teacher's feet; but he said to him: "Brother, Do not; for shade thou art, and shade beholdest." And he uprising: "Now canst thou the sum Of love which warms me to thee comprehend, When this our vanity I disremember, Treating a shadow as substantial thing.

Come, quando i vapori umidi e spessi A diradar cominciansi, la spera Del sol debilemente entra per essi....