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

They do certainly give very strange, and newfangled, names to diseases.

When a Benefit is wrongly conferred, the author of the Benefit may often be said to injure.

O youth or young man, who fancy that you are neglected by the gods, know that if you become worse, you shall go to worse souls, or if better to the better... In every succession of life and death, you will do and suffer what like may fitly suffer at the hands of like. This is the justice of heaven.

For the poets tell us, don't they, that the melodies they bring us are gathered from rills that run with honey, out of glens and gardens of the Muses, and they bring them as bees do honey, flying like the bees? And what they say is true, for a poet is a light and winged thing, and holy, and never able to compose until he has become inspired, and is beside himself, and reason is no longer in him. So long as he has this in his possession, no man is able to make poetry or to chant in prophecy.

Thinking is the soul talking to itself.

We are bound to our bodies like an oyster to its shell.