A Constitution (n.) was unnecessary in the golden age, when God himself was mankind's shepherd.
A Constitution (n.) molds its people: a good one makes good men, a bad one bad.
A Constitution (n.) is not born "from oak or rock" but from the characters of the citizens, which tip the scales and drag the rest along.
The Constitution (n.) is a late arrival: while a god tended humans the way we now tend lesser animals, nobody needed one.
A Constitution (n.) dies of its own good: oligarchy's insatiable desire for wealth destroys it, and democracy's insatiable desire for freedom destroys it too.
A Constitution (n.) is never founded by laws alone, of whatever sort, without someone in the city to oversee the citizens' daily life and keep it temperate and manly.
A Constitution (n.) is rightly judged by knowledge alone — not by whether one, few or many rule, by force or consent, rich or poor, with or without written law.
A Constitution (n.) not run by experts is only an imitation of the true one: the law-abiding ones copy it for the better, the rest for the worse.
Constitution (n.) exist because people could not stomach a single wise monarch: they refused to believe anyone would ever deserve to rule that way, and feared he would maim and kill at will.
Constitution (n.) as commonly named — democracy, oligarchy and the rest — is really just a way of running a state in which some citizens live like slaves to others, and it is named after its masters.
A Constitution (n.) has a voice of its own, like an animal species: democracy one tongue, oligarchy another, monarchy a third; it thrives while it speaks its own and dies imitating another's.