Socrates (n.) answered “Marry or don't — you will rue them both” not as a plain assertion but as an infinitely wise reply to a foolish question: asking a third party what one can never learn from a third party.
Socrates (n.) preferred to be the selfish, teasing gadfly whom no one loved, rather than be seduced into any union with an age — and loved the young because they still had a susceptibility to the divine.
Socrates (n.) was almost the only man who really distinguished between what he understood and what he did not, because he “feared most of all to be in error.”
Socrates (n.) could never explain more than he understood — unlike the admirable modern thinkers.
Socrates (n.) and Paul, who would not take money for teaching, would be judged today, if a contemporary did the same, eccentric visionaries who “lack earnestness” — though the world has learned their panegyric by rote.
Socrates (n.) was the ugliest man among the most beautiful people, so he could speak with a good conscience in praise of beauty — the more beautifully he talked, the uglier he became by contrast; with a beautiful nose he would not have said a word.
Socrates (n.) had no doctrine to lecture but pierced men with his glance, so that whoever talked with him seemed to be talking with himself; no catechist has ever questioned as he did.
Socrates (n.) remained simple in his wisdom, simple enough to catch the shrewd and to die for the truth without many thoughts or words, and talked over the hemlock as simply as at a banquet.
Socrates (n.) may be admired with one's whole youth, but comparing him with Christ is blasphemy: in the matter of one's salvation the simple wise man is a naught.