Not to help justice in her need would be an impiety.

Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.

Virtue is voluntary, vice involuntary.

When two friends are in the mood to chat, we have to go about it in a gentler and more dialectical way. By 'more dialectical,' I mean not only that we give real responses, but that we base our responses solely on what the interlocutor admits that he himself knows.

Many are the thyrsus-bearers, but few are the mystics.

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

All thought begins with the recognition that something is out of place.