Dante's Inferno Quotes

Do not be afraid; our fate Cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.

In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself within a dark woods where the straight way was lost.

The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and pain.

There is no greater sorrow then to recall our times of joy in wretchedness.

O human race, born to fly upward, wherefore at a little wind dost thou so fall?

Love insists the loved loves back

They yearn for what they fear for.

Into the eternal darkness, into fire and into ice.

Remember tonight...for it's the beginning of forever. - Dante Alighieri

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.

Through me you go into a city of weeping; through me you go into eternal pain; through me you go amongst the lost people

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 things Eternal, and eternal I shall endure. All hope abandon, ye who enter here.

From there we came outside and saw the stars

Because your question searches for deep meaning, I shall explain in simple words

But the stars that marked our starting fall away. We must go deeper into greater pain, for it is not permitted that we stay.

Amor, ch'al cor gentile ratto s'apprende prese costui de la bella persona che mi fu tolta; e 'l modo ancor m'offende. Amor, che a nullo amato amar perdona, Mi prese del costui piacer sì forte, Che, come vedi, ancor non m'abbandona..." "Love, which quickly arrests the gentle heart, Seized him with my beautiful form That was taken from me, in a manner which still grieves me. Love, which pardons no beloved from loving, took me so strongly with delight in him That, as you see, it still abandons me not...

His gaze settles on the discarded book. He leans, reaching until his fingertips graze Dante's Inferno, still on its bed of folded sheets. "What have we here?" he asks. "Required reading," I say. "It's a shame they do that," he says, thumbing through the pages. "Requirement ruins even the best of books.

Hope not ever to see Heaven. I have come to lead you to the other shore; into eternal darkness; into fire and into ice.

I felt for the tormented whirlwinds Damned for their carnal sins Committed when they let their passions rule their reason.

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.

At grief so deep the tongue must wag in vain; the language of our sense and memory lacks the vocabulary of such pain.

Dante's poem, Langdon was now reminded, was not so much about the misery of hell as it was about the power of the human spirit to endure any challenge, no matter how daunting.

Thence we came forth to rebehold the stars.

The poets leave hell and again behold the stars.

He is, most of all, l'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle.

In every journey comes a moment... one like no other. And in that moment, you must decide between who you are... and who you want to be.

I am the way into the city of woe, I am the way into eternal pain, I am the way to go among the lost. Justice caused my high architect to move, Divine omnipotence created me, The highest wisdom, and the primal love. Before me there were no created things But those that last forever—as do I. Abandon all hope you who enter here.

It was the hour of morning, when the sun mounts with those stars that shone with it when God's own love first set in motion those fair things

One ought to be afraid of nothing other then things possessed of power to do us harm, but things innoucuous need not be feared.

Love, which absolves no one beloved from loving, seized me so strongly with his charm that, as you see, it has not left me yet. Love brought us to one death.

And I — my head oppressed by horror — said: "Master, what is it that I hear? Who are those people so defeated by their pain?"       And he to me: "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.

Kelley. Your name is Kelley, isn't it?" He didn't wait for her confirmation. "Yes. Well. Tell me...that bit just now...was that from Dante's Inferno?" Uh...no," Kelley stammered. Her face felt hot. Really?" I'm in for it. Are you sure?" he continued. "Because it most certainly wasn't from this play. And it bloody well sounded like hell.

We were men once, though we've become trees

As phantoms frighten beasts when shadows fall.

So that the Universe felt love, by which, as somebelieve, the world has many times been turned to chaos. And at that moment this ancient rock, here and elsewhere, fell broken into pieces.

Here pity only lives when it is dead - Virgil

Dante laughed. "No cold soup, no goat cheese. I'll make a mental note. And no Gottfried Curse." "And for you it's no food at all. No sleep. And no tunnels." "I'm low maintenance." "Is that what you are? Because I've been trying to figure it out all semester." "And what have you concluded?" "A mutant. A rare disease. A creature from the inferno. Dante." "And what if you found out you were right?" he asked. "What if it meant that I could hurt you?" "I would say that I'm not scared. Everyone has the ability to hurt. It's the choice that matters.

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.

There, pride, avarice, and envy are the tongues men know and heed, a Babel of depsair

Soon you will be where your own eyes will see the source and cause and give you their own answer to the mystery.

My thoughts were full of other things When I wandered off the path.

There is no greater sorrow than thinking back upon a happy time in misery--

To get back up to the shining world from there My guide and I went into that hidden tunnel, And Following its path, we took no care To rest, but climbed: he first, then I-so far, through a round aperture I saw appear Some of the beautiful things that Heaven bears, Where we came forth, and once more saw the stars.

For pride and avarice and envy are the three fierce sparks that set all hearts ablaze.

You did thirst for blood, and with blood I fill you

It is necessity and not pleasure that compels us. [Italian: Necessita c'induce, e non diletto.]

I disconnected as a sleepy Seth stepped out of the bedroom. “Who’s Dante? Was that a collect call to the Inferno?” “They won’t accept the charges,” I murmured.

Oh blind, oh ignorant, self-seeking cupidity which spurs as so in the short mortal life and steeps as through all eternity.

Church of painful love - unfulfilled,unrequited & unattained

Dear Child, Sometimes on your travel through hell, you meet people that think they are in heaven because of their cleverness and ability to get away with things. Travel past them because they don't understand who they have become and never will. These type of people feel justified in revenge and will never learn mercy or forgiveness because they live by comparison. They are the people that don't care about anyone, other than who is making them feel confident. They don’t understand that their deity is not rejoicing with them because of their actions, rather he is trying to free them from their insecurities, by softening their heart. They rather put out your light than find their own. They don't have the ability to see beyond the false sense of happiness they get from destroying others. You know what happiness is and it isn’t this. Don’t see their success as their deliverance. It is a mask of vindication which has no audience, other than their own kind. They have joined countless others that call themselves “survivors”. They believe that they are entitled to win because life didn’t go as planned for them. You are not like them. You were not meant to stay in hell and follow their belief system. You were bound for greatness. You were born to help them by leading. Rise up and be the light home. You were given the gift to see the truth. They will have an army of people that are like them and you are going to feel alone. However, your family in heaven stands beside you now. They are your strength and as countless as the stars. It is time to let go! Love, Your Guardian Angel

Thy soul is by vile fear assailed, which oft so overcasts a man, that he recoils from noblest resolution, like a beast at some false semblance in the twilight gloom.

That which had pleased me once, troubled by spirit.

As the geometer intently seeks to square the circle, but he cannot reach, through thought on thought, the principle he needs, so I searched that strange sight.

That which Dante saw written on the door of the inferno must be written in a different sense also at the entrance to philosophy: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” Those who look for true philosophy must be bereft of all hope, all desire, all longing. They must not wish for anything, not know anything, must feel completely bare and impoverished.

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.

Wisdom is earned, not given

Before me there were no created things, Only eternity, and I too, last eternal. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here!

The well heeded well heard.

Through me is the way to the city of woe. Through me is the way to sorrow eternal. Through me is the way to the lost below. Justice moved my architect supernal. I was constructed by divine power, supreme wisdom, and love primordial. Before me no created things were. Save those eternal, and eternal I abide. Abandon all hope, you who enter.

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

These dwell among the blackest souls, loaded down deep by sins of differing types. If you sink far enough, you'll see them all.

And now, I pray you, tell me who you are: do not be harder than I've been with you that in the world your name may still endure.

And following its path, we took no care To rest, but climbed: he first, then I-- so far, Through a round aperture I saw appear Some of the beautiful things that Heaven bears, Where we came forth, and once more saw the stars.

As flowerlets drooped and puckered in the night turn up to the returning sun and spread their petals wide on his new warmth and light-just so my wilted spirits rose again and such a heat of zeal surged through my veins that I was born anew.

Tis Dante I prefer. In his Inferno he suggests the one true path from Hell lies at its very heart... ...and that in order to escape, we must instead go further IN.

it is his fate to enter every door. This has been willed where what is willed must be, and is not yours to question. Say no more.

So many times a man's thoughts will waver, That it turns him back from honored paths, As false sight turns a beast, when he is afraid.

And now I fell as bodies fall,for dead.

The wish to hear such baseness is degrading.

your soul has been assailed by cowardice, which often weighs so heavily on a man-- distracting him from honorable trials-- as phantoms frighten beasts when shadows fall.

One should only be afraid of those things Which have the power of doing others harm; For the rest, fear not; because they are not fearful.

You've built yourselves a god from silver and gold. How does that differ from idol worship, except Those people worship one god and you a hundred?

I make no other answer than the act, the Master said: "The only fit reply to a fit request is silence and the fact." [XXIV]

On march the banners of the King of Hell.

Being by such a noble lover kissed, This one, who ne'er from me shall be divided, Kissed me upon the mouth all palpitating.

Ahi serva Italia, di dolore ostello, / nave senza nocchiere in gran tempesta, / non donna di province, ma bordello.

If i thought i was replying to someone who would every return to the world, this flame would cease it's flickering. But since no one has returned from these depths alive, if what I've heard is true, I will answer you without fear of infamy.

Life is a " vale of tears" a period of trial and suffering, an unpleasant but necessary preparation for the afterlife where alone man could expect to enjoy happiness - Archibald T. MacAllister (The Inferno; Dante Alighieri translated by John Ciardi)

You were not made to live like brute beasts, but to pursue virtue and knowledge

أسوأ مكان في الجحيم هو مخصصٌ لهولاء الذين يبقون على حيادهم في زمن المعارك الأخلاقية الكبرى

Lying in a featherbed will not bring you fame, nor staying beneath the quilt, and he who uses up his life without achieving fame leaves no more vestige of himself on earth than smoke in the air or foam upon the water.

I'm a Christian, but if God is truly a God of love, then why would he have a private torture chamber where he put people that he was suppose to love and forgive to punish forever? if you actually read the Bible, the idea of hell like in the movies and most books was invented by a writer. Dante's inferno was ripped off by the Church to give people something to ba afraid of...

we are burning like a chicken wing left on the grill of an outdoor barbecue we are unwanted and burning we are burning and unwanted we are an unwanted burning as we sizzle and fry to the bone the coals of Dante's 'Inferno' spit and sputter beneath us and above the sky is an open hand and the words of wise men are useless it's not a nice world, a nice world it's not ...

Here all suspicion must be abandoned, All cowardice must be extinct.

I made my own house be my gallows.

She did not know what she had expected from her Dante, but she definitely hadn’t received it. So with the wisdom that comes only from having experienced a broken heart, she resolved to let him go once and for all.

Noi leggeveamo un giorno per diletto Di Lancialotto, come amor lo strinse; Soli eravamo e senza alcun sospetto Per più fiate gli occhi ci sospinse Quella lettura, e scolorocci il viso; Ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse. Quando leggemmo il disiato riso Esser baciato da cotanto amante, Questi, che mai da me non fia diviso, La bocca mi baciò tutto tremante. Galeotto fu il libro e chi lo scrisse: Quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante." ""We were reading one day, to pass the time, of Lancelot, how love had seized him. We were alone, and without any suspicion And time and time again our eyes would meet over that literature, and our faces paled, and yet one point alone won us. When we had read how the desired smile was kissed by so true a lover, This one, who never shall be parted from me, kissed my mouth, all a-tremble. Gallehault was the book and he who wrote it That day we read no further.

Why do we allow people to abuse their children? Why don't we defend the sick and the weak? Why do we let soldiers round up our neighbors and make them wear a star on their clothing and cram them into boxcars? It isn't God who's evil-it's us.

As in the autumn-time the leaves fall off, First one and then another, till the branch Surrenders all its spoils to the earth;   In similar fashion did these evil seeds of Adam throw Themselves from the group, one by one, into the boat At Charon's signal, as a bird is called to its lure.

There are souls beneath that water. Fixed in slime they speak their piece, end it, and start again: 'Sullen were we in the air made sweet by the Sun; in the glory of his shining our hearts poured a bitter smoke. Sullen were we begun; sullen we lie forever in this ditch.' This litany they gargle in their throats as if they sand, but lacked the words and pitch.

Dear Reader, Dante Alighieri said, in his Inferno:   "Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.” Dante lied.   Our fate must be worked for.  It must be paid for.  With tears.  With blood.  With everything we have.  And it is not until the end,  the very end,  that we will know if it was worth it.

And when he had put his hand on mine with a cheerful look, wherefrom I took courage, he brought me within to the secret things. Here sighs, laments, and deep wailings were resounding through the starless air; wherefore at first I wept thereat. Strange tongues, horrible utterances, words of woe, accents of anger, voices high and faint, and sounds of hands with them, were making a tumult which whirls always in that air forever dark, like the sand when the whirlwind breathes.

Through me you go to the grief wracked city; Through me you go to everlasting pain; Through me you go a pass among lost souls. Justice inspired my exalted Creator: I am a creature of the Holiest Power, of Wisdom in the Highest and of Primal Love. Nothing till I was made was made, only eternal beings. And I endure eternally. Surrender as you enter, every hope you have.

Google is so strange. It promises everything, but everything isn't there. You type in the words for what you need, and what you need becomes superfluous in an instant, shadowed instantaneously by the things you really need, and none of them answerable by Google....Sure, there's a certain charm to being able to look up and watch Eartha Kitt singing Old Fashioned Millionaire in 1957 at three in the morning or Hayley Mills singing a song about femininity from an old Disney film. But the charm is a kind of deception about a whole new way of feeling lonely, a semblance of plenitude but really a new level of Dante's inferno, a zombie-filled cemetery of spurious clues, beauty, pathos, pain, the faces of puppies, women and men from all over the world tied up and wanked over in site after site, a great sea of hidden shallows. More and more, the pressing human dilemma: how to walk a clean path between obscenities.

A full and powerful soul not only copes with painful even terrible losses, deprivations, robberies, insults; it emerges from such hells with a greater fullness and powerfulness, and most essential of all with a new increase in the bliss-Fulness of love. I believe that he who has divined something of the most basic conditions for his growth in love will understand what Dante meant when he wrote over the gate of his inferno: 'I, too, was created by eternal love.

The broken branch hissed loudly, and then that wind was converted into these words: "Briefly will you be answered. When the fierce soul departs from the body from which it has uprooted itself, Minos sends it to the seventh mouth. It falls into the wood, and no place is assigned to it, but where chance hurls it, there it sprouts like a grain of spelt. It grows into a shoot, then a woody plant; the Harpies, feeding on its leaves, give it pain and a window for the pain. Like the others, we will come for our remains, but not so that any may put them on again, for it is not just to have what one has taken from oneself. Here we will drag them, and through the sad wood our corpses will hang, each on the thornbrush of the soul that harmed it.

Those, then, who want to find themselves at the starting point of a truly free philosophy, have to depart even from God. Here the motto is: whoever wants to preserve it will lose it, and whoever abandons it will find it. Only those have reached the ground in themselves and have become aware of the depths of life, who have at one time abandoned everything and have themselves been abandoned by everything, for whom everything has been lost, and who have found themselves alone, face-to-face with the infinite: a decisive step which Plato compared with death. That which Dante saw written on the door of the inferno must be written in a different sense also at the entrance to philosophy: ‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.’ Those who look for true philosophy must be bereft of all hope, all desire, all longing. They must not wish anything, not know anything, must feel completely bare and impoverished, must give everything away in order to gain everything. It is a grim step to take, it is grim to have to depart from the final shore.

those cries rose from among the twisted roots through which the spirits of the damned were slinking to hide from us. Therefore my Master said: 'If you break off a twig, what you will learn will drive what you are thinking from your head.' Puzzled, I raised my hand a bit and slowly broke 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 bowl of 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 merciful were we no more than souls of lice and ticks.' As a green branch with one end all aflame will hiss and sputter sap out of the other as the air escapes- so from that trunk there came words and blood together, gout by gout. Startled, I dropped the branch that I was holding and stood transfixed by fear,...

Sobre la falda tenia el libro abierto; en mi mejilla tocaban sus rizos negros; no veiamos las letras ninguno, creo; mas guardabamos entrambos hondo silencio. Cuanto duro? Ni aun entonces pude saberlo; solo se que no se oia mas que el aliento, que apresurado escapaba del labio seco. Solo se que nos volvimos los dos a un tiempo, y nuestros ojos se hallaron, y sono un beso. Creacion de Dante era el libro, era su Infierno. Cuando a el bajamos los ojos, yo dije, tremulo: Comprendes ya que un poema cabe en un verso?" Y ella respondio, encendida: Ya lo comprendo!" On her skirt she had an open book on my cheek her black locks of hair we didn't see the letters any of them, I think though we kept between us a deep silence How much did it last? Not even then I could know I only know that I couldn't hear anything more than her breath that fastly went out of her dry lips I only know that we both turned our sight at same time and our eyes met the other and a kiss was heard The creation of Dante was the book it was its Inferno when we both turned down the eyes to it I said, trembling: 'Do you already understand that a poem fits in a verse?'' And she answered lightened up: I understand!

Who is he?” Eleanor lowered her voice, the name rolling off her tongue like a dark secret. “Dante Berlin.” I laughed. “Dante? Like the Dante who wrote the Inferno? Did he pick that name just to cultivate his ‘dark and mysterious’ persona?” Eleanor shook her head in disapproval. “Just wait till you see him. You won’t be laughing then.” I rolled my eyes. “I bet his real name is something boring like Eugene or Dwayne.” I expected Eleanor to laugh or say something in return, but instead she gave me a concerned look. I ignored it. “He sounds like a snob to me. I bet he’s one of those guys who know they’re good-looking. He probably hasn’t even read the Inferno. It’s easy to pretend you’re smart when you don’t to anyone.” Eleanor still didn’t respond. “Shh . . .” she muttered under her breath. But before I could say “What?” I heard a cough behind me. Oh God, I thought to myself, and slowly turned around. “Hi,” he said with a half grin that seemed to be mocking me. And that’s how I met Dante Berlin. So how do you describe someone who leaves you speechless? He was beautiful. Not Monet beautiful or white sandy beach beautiful or even Grand Canyon beautiful. It was both more overwhelming and more delicate. Like gazing into the night sky and feeling incredibly small in comparison. Like holding a shell in your hand and wondering how nature was able to make something so complex yet to perfect: his eyes, dark and pensive; his messy brown hair tucked behind one ear; his arms, strong and lean beneath the cuffs of his collared shirt. I wanted to say something witty or charming, but all I could muster up was a timid “Hi.” He studied me with what looked like a mix of disgust and curiosity. “You must be Eugene,” I said. “I am.” He smiled, then leaned in and added, “I hope I can trust you to keep my true identity a secret. A name like Eugene could do real damage to my mysterious persona.” I blushed at the sound of my words coming from his lips. He didn’t seem anything like the person Eleanor had described. “And you are—” “Renee,” I interjected. “I was going to say, ‘in my seat,’ but Renee will do.” My face went red. “Oh, right. Sorry.” “Renee like the philosopher Rene Descartes? How esoteric of you. No wonder you think you know everything. You probably picked that name just to cultivate your overly analytical persona.” I glared at him. I knew he was just dishing back my own insults, but it still stung. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” I said curtly, and pushed past him before he could respond, waving a quick good-bye to Eleanor, who looked too stunned to move. I turned and walked to the last row, using all of my self-control to resist looking back.