Reason Flies When Following The

I Found Myself Within A Forest Dark, For The Straightfoward Pathway Had Been Lost. Ah Me! How Hard A Thing Is To Say, What Was This Forest Savage, Rough, And Stern, Which In The Very Thought Renews The Fear. So Bitter Is It, Death Is Little More.

O Human Race, Born To Fly Upward, Wherefore At A Little Wind Dost Thou So Fall?

We Have No Hope And Yet We Live In Longing.

Through Me You Go Into A City Of Weeping; Through Me You Go Into Eternal Pain; Through Me You Go Amongst The Lost People

He Listens Well Who Takes Notes.