The Day That Man Allows True Love

As Little Flowers, Which The Chill Of Night Has Bent And Huddled, When The White Sun Strikes, Grow Straight And Open Fully On Their Stems, So Did I, Too, With My Exhausted Force.

"the Love Of God, Unutterable And Perfect, Flows Into A Pure Soul The Way Light Rushes Into A Transparent Object. The More Love That It Finds, The More It Gives Itself: So That, As We Grow Clear And Open, The More Complete The Joy Of Heaven Is. And The More Souls Who Resonate Together, The Greater The Intensity Of Their Love, And, Mirror Like, Each Soul Reflects The Other.

Through Me You Go Into A City Of Weeping; Through Me You Go Into Eternal Pain; Through Me You Go Amongst The Lost People

Reason Flies When Following The Senses, On Clipped Wings.

Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here. [omnes Relinquite Spes, O Vos Intrantes]