The truth is that we isolate a particular kind of love and appropriate it for the name of love, which really belongs to a wider whole.

But of the heaven which is above the heavens, what earthly poet ever did or ever will sing worthily?

He, O men, is the wisest, who, like Socrates, knows that his wisdom is in truth worth nothing.

I would have you imagine, then, that there exists in the mind of man a block of wax... and that we remember and know what is imprinted as long as the image lasts; but when the image is effaced, or cannot be taken, then we forget or do not know.

It is vain for the sober man to knock at poesy's door.

I exhort you also to take part in the great combat, which is the combat of life, and greater than every other earthly conflict.

Rhythm and harmony enter most powerfully into the inner most part of the soul and lay forcible hands upon it, bearing grace with them, so making graceful him who is rightly trained.