I saw within Its depth how It conceives_x000D_ _x000D_ All things in a single volume bound by Love_x000D_ _x000D_ of which the universe is the scattered leaves.
Dante AlighieriRead
Here we find the moat of thieves. And just as a lizard, with a quick, slick slither, Flicks across the highway from hedge to hedge, Fleeter than a flash, in the battering dog-day weather, A fiery little monster, livid, in a rage, Black as any peppercorn, came and made a dart At the guts of the others, and leaping to engage One of the pair, it pierced him at the part Through which we first draw food; then loosed its grip And fell before him, outstretched and apart.
Interpretation
This quote describes the violent and instinctive nature of survival among predators, highlighting the rawness of life.
In this vivid imagery, Dante Alighieri portrays a fierce struggle for survival, showcasing the ruthless aspects of nature. The comparison of the lizard's quickness to theft reveals a deeper commentary on the instinctual behaviors of creatures, illustrating how life can be a battleground where the strongest prevail. The imagery evokes a sense of urgency and danger, reminding us that existence often involves confronting threats and challenges head-on.
In practice
This quote can be used during a discussion about the harsh realities of life in nature.
I saw within Its depth how It conceives_x000D_ _x000D_ All things in a single volume bound by Love_x000D_ _x000D_ of which the universe is the scattered leaves.
Before me things created were none, save things Eternal, and eternal I endure. All hope abandon, ye who enter here.
The customs and fashions of men change like leaves on the bough, some of which go and others come.
Heaven wheels above you, displaying to you her eternal glories, and still your eyes are on the ground.
Pride, envy, avarice - these are the sparks have set on fire the hearts of all men.
Thus you may understand that love alone is the true seed of every merit in you, and of all acts for which you must atone.
Successful and fortunate crime is called virtue.
Beauty is vanishing from our world because we live as though it does not matter.
I feel as if I am an ad for the sale of a haunted house: 18 rooms $37,000 I’m yours ghosts and all.
As individuals express their life, so they are. What they are, therefore, coincides with their production, both with what they produce and with how they produce. The nature of individuals thus depends on the material conditions determining their production.
Is there not a sort of remorse that precedes sin? Was it remorse at the very fact that I existed?
Polluted by crimes, and torn by the bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but in death?
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