E'en in mid-harvest, while the jocund swain Pluck'd from the brittle stalk the golden grain, Oft have I seen the war of winds contend, And prone on earth th' infuriate storm descend, Waste far and wide, and by the roots… — Virgil Copy Share Image
“Facilis descensus Averni: noctes atque dies patet atri ianua Ditis; sed revocare gradium superasque evadere ad auras. hoc opus, hic labor est.” — Virgil Copy Share Image
The descent to the infernal regions is easy enough, but to retrace one's steps, and reach the air above, there's the rub. — Virgil Copy Share Image
“..and why the winter suns so rush to bathe themselves in the sea and what slows down the nights to a long lingering crawl...” — Virgil Copy Share Image
“forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit. and perhaps it will be pleasing to have remembered these things one day” — Virgil Copy Share Image
