Sta Come Torre Ferma, Che Non Crolla

This Miserable Way Is Taken By The Sorry Souls Of Those Who Lived Without Disgrace And Without Praise. They Now Commingle With The Coward Angels, The Company Of Those Who Were Not Rebels Nor 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.

All Of Nature Is God's Art.

For Where The Instrument Of Intelligence Is Added To Brute Power And Evil Will, Mankind Is Powerless In Its Own Defense.

A Rapid Bolt Will Rend The Clouds Apart, And Every Single White Be Seared By Wounds. I Tell You This. I Want It All To Hurt.

Here Pity Only Lives When It Is Dead - Virgil