Praise (n.) is mostly self-praise: each man extols the pursuit he shines in and rails against whatever he is bad at.
Praise (n.) is a bone shown to dogs: whisper once that your beloved is beautiful and every eye in the room turns to him.
Praise (n.) should go to the dead first and loudest, says the prudent sophist: the living merely envy you, but the dead can be wrathful.
Praise (n.) sung in hymns during a man's lifetime invites trouble; wait until he has finished running the race of life successfully.
Praise (n.) lavished on a beloved you haven't won is a victory ode sung before the race: win him and you've praised yourself, lose him and you look the bigger loser.
Praise (n.) should be sung only by those whose own lives have earned distinction; poetic skill without a noble deed to one's name confers no right to it.
Praise (n.) must first say what its subject is, and only then what gifts he gives; the others congratulated humans instead of celebrating the god.
Praise (n.) as the poets practice it does not tell the truth about its object but applies the grandest and most beautiful qualities whether it has them or not, and looks beautiful only to those who do not know.
Praise (n.) is easy before the very people praised: praising Athenians among Athenians is no great feat, and only praising Athens to the Peloponnesians would take a good orator.