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O faithful conscience, delicately pure, how doth a little failing wound thee sore!
Dante Alighieri
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Dante Alighieri
Age: 56 †
Born: 1265
Born: June 6
Died: 1321
Died: September 22
Author
Intellectual
Lyricist
Philosopher
Poet
Political Theorist
Politician
Prosaist
Writer
Florence
Tuscany
Dante
Durante degli Alighieri
Durante di Alighiero degli Alighieri
Pure
Sore
Littles
Doth
Little
Wound
Faithful
Wounds
Thee
Conscience
Failing
Delicately
More quotes by Dante Alighieri
Do not desert me when I need you most. And if we can't go on together, let's retrace our steps as quickly as we can.
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Without hope we live in desire.
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Before me things created were none, save things Eternal, and eternal I endure. All hope abandon, ye who enter here.
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The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and likewise pain.
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I did not die, and yet I lost life’s breath
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From a small spark, Great flame has risen.
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He whom you see-along the downward arc- was William, and the land that mourns his death, for living Charles and Frederick, now laments now he has learned how Heaven loves the just ruler, and he would show this outwardly as well, so radiantly visible.
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The more perfect a thing is, the more susceptible to good and bad treatment it is.
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There is a gentle thought that often springs to life in me, because it speaks of you.
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And as he, who with laboring breath has escaped from the deep to the shore, turns to the perilous waters and gazes.
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If the present world go astray, the cause is in you, in you it is to be sought.
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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.
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Through me the way into the suffering city, Through me the way to the eternal pain, Through me the way that runs among the lost. Justice urged on my high artificer My maker was divine authority, The highest wisdom, and the primal love. Before me nothing but eternal things were made, And I endure eternally. Abandon every hope, ye who enter here.
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O human race, born to fly upward, wherefore at a little wind dost thou so fall?
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To run over better waters the little vessel of my genius now hoists her sails, as she leaves behind her a sea so cruel.
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No sorrow is deeper than the remembrance of happiness when in misery.
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As one who sees in dreams and wakes to find the emotional impression of his vision still powerful while its parts fade from his mind - Just such am I, having lost nearly all the vision itself, while in my heart I feel the sweetness of it yet distill and fall.
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Infinite goodness has such wide arms.
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It is no learning to understand what you do not retain.
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Still desiring, we live without hope.
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