Quotes by Dante Alighieri

Remember tonight... for it is the beginning of always

There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery

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

Mentre che la speranza ha fior del verde

A mighty flame follows a tiny spark.

Those ancients who in poetry presented the golden age, who sang its happy state,perhaps, in their Parnassus, dreamt this place. Here, mankinds root was innocent; and herewere every fruit and never-ending spring; these streams--the nectar of which poets sing.

Open thy mind; take in what I explain and keep it there; because to understand is not to know, if thou dost not retain...

your soul is sunken in that cowardice that bears down many men, turning their course and resolution by imagined perils, as his own shadow turns the frightened horse.

Beauty awakens the soul to act.

Behave like men, and not like witless sheep...

The wish to hear such baseness is degrading.

Oh human creatures, born to soar aloft,Why fall ye thus before a little wind?

I felt for the tormented whirlwindsDamned for their carnal sinsCommitted when they let their passions rule their reason.

Within her presence, I had once been usedto feeling—trembling—wonder, dissolution;but that was long ago. Still, though my soul,now she was veiled, could not see her directly,by way of hidden force that she could move,I felt the mighty power of old love.

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

There is no greater sorrow than to recall our time of joy in wretchedness.

When you are nearer, you will understand how much your eyesight is deceived by distance. Therefore, push yourself a little harder.

And what will bow your shoulders downwill be the vicious and worthless company with whom you will fall into this abyss.

Here sighs and cries and shrieks of lamentation echoed throughout the starless air of Hell;at first these sounds resounding made me weep:tongues confused, a language strained in anguishwith cadences of anger, shrill outcriesand raucous groans that joined with sounds of hands,raising a whirling storm that turns itselfforever through that air of endless black,like grains of sand swirling when a whirlwind blows.And I, in the midst of all this circling horror,began, Teacher, what are these sounds I hear?What souls are these so overwhelmed by grief?And he to me: This wretched state of beingis the fate of those sad souls who lived a lifebut lived it with no blame and with no praise.They are mixed with that repulsive choir of angelsneither faithful nor unfaithful to their God,who undecided stood but for themselves.Heaven, to keep its beauty, cast them out,but even Hell itself would not receive them,for fear the damned might glory over them.And I. Master, what torments do they sufferthat force them to lament so bitterly?He answered: I will tell you in few words:these wretches have no hope of truly dying,and this blind life they lead is so abjectit makes them envy every other fate.The world will not record their having been there;Heavens mercy and its justice turn from them.Lets not discuss them; look and pass them by...

There is no greater sorrow than to recall in misery the time when we were happy.