The care of God for us is a great thing, if a man believe it at heart: it plucks the burden of sorrow from him.

Why do we make so much of knowledge, struggle so hard to get some little skill not worth the effort?

Where there are two, one cannot be wretched, and one not.

I would prefer as friend a good man ignorant than one more clever who is evil too.

He is life's liberating force. He is release of limbs and communion through dance. He is laughter, and music in flutes. He is repose from all cares -- he is sleep! When his blood bursts from the grape and flows across tables laid in his honor to fuse with our blood, he gently, gradually, wraps us in shadows of ivy-cool sleep.

Death is what men want when the anguish of living is more than they can bear.

The fountains of sacred rivers flow upwards (i.e., everything is turned topsy turvy).