Abandon Every Hope, You Who Enter.

Like The Lark That Soars In The Air, First Singing, Then Silent, Content With The Last Sweetness That Satiates It, Such Seemed To Me That Image, The Imprint Of The Eternal Pleasure.

Curb Your Talent Lest It Speed Where Virtue Does Not Guide.

Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here. [omnes Relinquite Spes, O Vos Intrantes]

He Is Not Always At Ease Who Laughs.

A Backward Glance Can Often Lift The Heart.