Virgil

That happy place, the green groves of the dwelling of the blest.

Virgil

The descent to the infernal regions is easy enough, but to retrace one’s steps, and reach the air above, there’s the rub.

Virgil

The flocks fear the wolf, the crops the storm, and the trees the wind.

Virgil

The gates of hell are open night and day; Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.

Virgil

The hour is ripe, and yonder lies the way.

Virgil

The medicine increases the disease.

Virgil

The signs of the old flame, I know them well. I pray that the earth gape deep enough to take me down or the almighty Father blast me with one bolt to the shades, the pale, glimmering shades in hell, the pit of night, before I dishonor you, my conscience, break your laws.

Virgil

Then endure for a while, and live for a happier day!

Virgil

There are two gates of Sleep. One is of horn, easy of passage for the shades of truth; the other, of gleaming white ivory, permits false dreams to ascend to the upper air.

Virgil

There is but one safety to the vanquished-to hope not safety.

Virgil