The more the pleasures of the body fade away, the greater to me is the pleasure and charm of conversation.

I to die, and you to live. Which is better God only knows.

For the poet is a light winged and holy thing, and there is no invention in him until he has been inspired and is out of his senses and the mind is no longer with him. When he has not attained this state he is powerless and unable to utter his oracles.

To escape from evil we must be made as far as possible like God; and the resemblance consists in becoming just and holy and wise.

Complacent ignorance is the most lethal sickness of the soul

I can show you that the art of calculation has to do with odd and even numbers in their numerical relations to themselves and to each other.

The deity on purpose [sings] the liveliest of all lyrics through the most miserable poet.