canto

Every time I am feeling fucked over, I get this line from Dante's Inferno in my head. Don't ask me what Canto, because I don't remember, but you know, when Dante's cruisin' around hell with Virgil and all, and he meets this Italian military strategist, the once excommunicated Guido da Montefeltro?

And Montefeltro, who's probably not having such a great time in Hell after all these years, laments, "Promise great things, promise, but do not pay." (Referring to the advice he gave to Pope Boniface in dealing with the Colonna family who had contested his power; Montefeltro advised Boniface to grant them amnesty in return for their surrender, and then reneg on the promise once they had left their fortress. And, also maybe he's pissed, because the Pope promised him absolution, and St. Francis even came to collect his ass after his death, but some Black Cherub from Hell--and here I have an incongruous, anachronistic image of Jimi Hendrix, with a smokin' Strat strapped across his front--came to claim him on a superior, a priori claim. So, that's about how much money'll buy you, people, in case you're wondering in advance how much money you should spend on buying yourself out of Hell.)

Any way, I read Dante's Inferno the summer before 9th grade (no, it wasn't required reading. I was a weirdo back then, too). And that line struck me so much, I wrote it down, and memorized it. And from basically that time on, whenever any body fucks with me--or I fuck them over--I think, "Promise great things, promise, but do not pay."

I'm not sure who else goes around quoting Dante when they're pissed off, but, that's about where I am right now. That, and wondering how many limited edition Stratocasters you'd have to part with to stay outta hell.