The eyes of the soul of the multitudes are unable to endure the vision of the divine.
In good speaking, should not the mind of the speaker know the truth of the matter about which he is to speak.
Music and rhythm find their way into the secret places of the soul
The Earth is like one of those balls made of twelve pieces of skin.
Any city, however small, is in fact divided into two, one the city of the poor, the other of the rich; these are at war with one another.
The affairs of music ought, somehow, to terminate in the love of the beautiful.