States are as the men, they grow out of human characters.
Love is the joy of the good, the wonder of the wise, the amazement of the Gods.
The affairs of music ought, somehow, to terminate in the love of the beautiful.
Only a philosopher's mind grows wings, since its memory always keeps it as close as possible to those realities by being close to which the gods are divine.
Of all the animals, the boy is the most unmanageable.
And if we are good, we are beneficent: for all good things are beneficial. Are they not?