In Each Fire There Is A Spirit;

There Is A Place In Hell Called The Malebolge.

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.

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.

No Sorrow Is Deeper Than The Remembrance Of Happiness When In Misery.

I Am Searching For That Which Every Man Seeks-peace And Rest.