Fate is our master," I thought. "Yesterday a king, and today a tumbler's man. I hope my father never hears of it.

I stretched out my hand to Poseidon, but he sent no sign. He was away perhaps, shaking the earth somewhere. All about us I felt another power, dark, past man's thoughts, giver of desolation or of joy, she who can cherish or cast away but abides no question.

What is democracy? It is what it says, the rule of the people. It is as good as the people are, or as bad.

Plato, in his opinion, had committed too much to love.