Gods (n.) were simply whatever is beneficial to human life, for Prodicus.
Gods (n.) have not bodies, says Epicurus, but something like bodies, not blood but something like blood.
The Gods (n.) cannot be expected to love and cherish us when we ourselves despise and neglect one another.
Gods (n.) exist, Ennius always said — but in his opinion they do not care what destiny befalls the human race.
Gods (n.) could not be told apart if they all had the same face — there would be an Academy in heaven.
Gods (n.) know what every person really is, and can tell whether our religious professions are sincere and heartfelt.
Gods (n.) of Epicurus do nothing: no business, no work — they rejoice in their own wisdom and virtue, sure of eternal pleasures.
Gods (n.) must exist, for there are interpreters of the gods, and whoever has interpreters must exist himself.
Gods (n.) take care of great things and disregard the small: a storm on a man's vineyard is no sign that heaven hates him.
The Gods (n.) that are useless deserve no worship; even the ridiculed Egyptians never consecrated an animal except for its utility.
Gods (n.) have as many names as men have languages: Vulcan is not called Vulcan in Italy, Africa and Spain, as Velleius is Velleius everywhere.
Gods (n.) of Epicurus are transparent, with the winds blowing through them, living between two worlds for fear of falling, with limbs they never use.
Gods (n.) are innumerable, says the Stoic, yet providence is too busy for our affairs — so why not hand human business to one of the idle ones?
Gods (n.) do not chat with us in the forum; they diffuse their power, sometimes shutting it in caverns of the earth and sometimes imparting it to human beings.
The Gods (n.) are vouched for by universal consent, which is to be looked on as a law of nature: no nation is so savage as to lack some notion of them.