Still Desiring, We Live Without Hope.

How Come I Never Meet Any Nice Girls?

That Which Had Pleased Me Once, Troubled By Spirit.

In Judgement Be Ye Not Too Confident, Even As A Man Who Will Appraise His Corn When Standing In A Field, Ere It Is Ripe.

There Is In Hell A Place Stone-built Throughout, Called Malebolge, Of An Iron Hue, Like To The Wall That Circles It About.

No Sorrow Is Deeper Than The Remembrance Of Happiness When In Misery.