“O you, who in some pretty boat,Eager to listen, have been followingBehind my ship, that singing sails alongTurn 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 upliftedBetimes to the bread of angels upon Which one lives and does not grow sated,Well may you launch your vesselUpon the deep sea.”

“And as he, who with laboring breath has escaped from the deep to the shore, turns to the perilous waters and gazes.”

“To course across more kindly waters nowmy 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.”

“And I — my head oppressed by horror — said:"Master, what is it that I hear? Who arethose people so defeated by their pain?"      And he to me: "This miserable wayis taken by the sorry souls of thosewho lived without disgrace and without praise.      They now commingle with the coward angels,the company of those who were not rebelsnor 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.”

“those cries rose from among the twisted rootsthrough which the spirits of the damned were slinkingto hide from us. Therefore my Master said:'If you break off a twig, what you will learnwill drive what you are thinking from your head.'Puzzled, I raised my hand a bit and slowlybroke off a branchlet from an enormous thorn:and the great trunk of it cried: 'Why do you break me?'And after blood had darkened all the bowlof the wound, it cried again: 'Why do you tear me?Is there no pity left in any soul?Men we were, and now we are changed to sticks;well might your hand have been more mercifulwere we no more than souls of lice and ticks.'As a green branch with one end all aflamewill hiss and sputter sap out of the otheras the air escapes- so from that trunk there camewords and blood together, gout by gout.Startled, I dropped the branch that I was holdingand stood transfixed by fear,...”

“Through me you pass into the city of woe:Through me you pass into eternal pain:Through me among the people lost for aye.Justice the founder of my fabric moved:To rear me was the task of power divine,Supremest wisdom, and primeval love.Before me things create were none, save thingsEternal, and eternal I shall endure.All hope abandon, ye who enter here.”

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