An Argument (n.) cannot be poured into someone's soul like water.
An Argument (n.) that answers 'neither and both' has sat down on both sides of the fence and is ruined.
Argument (n.) gobbled one after another, like a glutton snatching every dish before savoring the last, leave one knowing nothing.
An Argument (n.) should be followed for its own sake, never minding whether it is Critias or Socrates who is being refuted.
Argument (n.) tests more than the thesis: when it is pursued honestly, the questioner and the one answering end up tested too.
An Argument (n.) is a sea you must swim whether you fell into a diving pool or the middle of the ocean, hoping a dolphin picks you up.
Argument (n.) is Socrates' terrible lust: battered by many a Heracles and Theseus of words, he still will not retire from the field.
Argument (n.) founders on the rock when a debater insists the most unlike things are most alike — a move that only makes both sides look childish.
An Argument (n.) that goes round in a circle comes home to the very definition it had refuted — and the arguer blames the questioner for making it move.
Argument (n.) should be submitted to nobly, the way one submits to a doctor: answer yes or no, and it will not hurt you.
Argument (n.) turns into abuse when both sides are eager to win rather than to find out — so ugly that even the bystanders feel ashamed for having come.
An Argument (n.) can die on us; if it does and cannot be revived, it is today, not tomorrow, that we should cut our hair in mourning.
An Argument (n.) in Socrates' hands behaves like the statues of Daedalus: put a proposition down and it gets up and walks away.
An Argument (n.) never comes from Socrates but always from the person he is talking to; all he knows is how to give it a fair reception.
An Argument (n.) must not be abandoned in the middle, any more than a story; it needs a head put on it, so it won't go about headless.
Argument (n.) are a philosopher's slaves: each must wait about until he chooses to finish it, with no jury and no audience sitting in control.
An Argument (n.) can be a con artist: just as Socrates basked like a hunter who has made his kill, a suspicion told him their wealth had all been a dream.
An Argument (n.) can turn on the people having it and mock them: the one who denied virtue could be taught proves it is knowledge, and its teacher makes it unteachable.
Argument (n.) as Socrates makes it wears words as coarse as a satyr's hide — pack asses, blacksmiths, cobblers — but opened up it is the only kind that makes sense, full of images of virtue.
An Argument (n.) tasted too young becomes a game of contradiction: like puppies the young drag and tear at everyone near them, refute and are refuted until they believe nothing, and discredit philosophy as well.