And he began, "What chance or destinyhas brought you here before your final day?And who is he who leads your pilgrimage?""Up there in life beneath the quiet starsI lost my way," I answered, "in a valley,before I'd reached the fullness of my age.I turned my shoulders on it yesterday:this soul appeared as I was falling back,and by the road through Hell he leads me home.""Follow your star and you will never fail to find your glorious port," he said to me

In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost.

Love, that all gentle hearts so quickly know.

Love, which insists that love shall mutual be.

This sorrow weighs upon the melancholy souls of those who lived without infamy or praise.

The only fit reply to a fit request is silence and the fact.