Religion is a disease, but it is a noble disease.
The Sibyl, with frenzied mouth uttering things not to be laughed at, unadorned and unperfumed, yet reaches to a thousand years with her voice by aid of the god.
Change is the only constant.
The awake share a common world, but the asleep turn aside into private worlds.
There is harmony in the tension of opposites, as in the case of the bow and lyre.
The people should fight for the law as for their city wall.