Inquiry (n.) once outlawed takes every art down with it beyond repair, and makes life, already hard, altogether unliveable.
Inquiry (n.) is a love affair: whoever loves it must follow the beloved wherever it leads.
Inquiry (n.) is not testing others on what you know, Socrates insists, but searching with them because you do not know.
Inquiry (n.) can feel like children chasing crested larks: each knowledge seems about to be caught and always flies off.
Inquiry (n.) is like fording a river: asked whether the water is deep, the guide only says, 'It will show you.'
An Inquiry (n.) may never reach precise knowledge in this life, but it shows a poor spirit to stop before one is exhausted by an all-round investigation.
Inquiry (n.) is searching together: Socrates claims no knowledge of what he says, and promises to be the first to concede when his opponent has a point.
Inquiry (n.) pays either way: either we find what we are after, or we grow less inclined to think we know what we don't know at all.
An Inquiry (n.) is frightening not for fear of ridicule but because if you slip from the truth where it matters most you drag your friends down with you.
Inquiry (n.) is worth believing in for what the belief does to us: we are better, braver and less idle if we think the unknown can be found.
Inquiry (n.) begins only when you think you don't know; nobody investigates what he is sure he already understands.
Inquiry (n.) looks impossible on the debater's argument: you cannot search for what you know, since you have it, nor for what you don't, since you wouldn't know what to look for.