The Soul (n.) is the part to undress and inspect first, before anyone looks at the body.
The Soul (n.) cannot be seriously understood without understanding the nature of the world as a whole.
The Soul (n.) is like a book in which memory and perception act as scribe, writing words that make our judgments true or false.
The Soul (n.) can be described as it is only by a god; humans can say only what it is like.
The Soul (n.) is immortal because its own evil, injustice, does not kill it — and nothing dies of an evil proper to something else.
The Soul (n.) is immortal because it moves itself: only what moves itself never stops moving, since it never stops being itself.
The Soul (n.) always brings life to whatever it occupies, so it can never admit death: it is deathless as three is uneven.
The Soul (n.) is what the citizen of the greatest city neglects while he strains after wealth, reputation and honors — and should be ashamed of neglecting.
Soul (n.) is divine, and when it has quitted the body a return to heaven is open to it, least difficult to the most virtuous and just.
The Soul (n.) must come to each of us from somewhere, and where else than from the body of the universe — like ours, only lovelier in every respect?
The Soul (n.) that investigates through the body is dragged toward things that never stay the same, and grows confused and dizzy, as if drunk.
The Soul (n.) is the power that carries and holds up the whole of nature — a 'nature-sustainer' whose true name sounds so odd that we prettified it into psuchē.
The Soul (n.) that shares the body's delights is always full of body when it departs, and soon falls back into another body and grows with it as if sewn in.
The Soul (n.) talks to the body's desires as one thing to another — "Endure, my heart, you have endured worse than this" — ruling them rather than being their tuning.
The Soul (n.) holds an instrument, blinded by other ways of life and rekindled by study, more worth preserving than ten thousand eyes, since only with it can truth be seen.
The Soul (n.) as we see it is like the sea god Glaucus, limbs broken off, crusted with shells, seaweed and stones, more like a wild animal than its natural self.
The Soul (n.) is a citadel: when it stands empty of knowledge, fine ways of living, and words of truth, false and boastful words rush up and occupy it.
Soul (n.) are always the same in number: none is destroyed, and if the immortal increased, the increase would have to come from the mortal, until everything was immortal.
The Soul (n.) is handed to strange teachers with less thought than the body is handed to a doctor — people confer for days about a physician and not an hour about a sophist.
The Soul (n.) is the single form where all the senses converge; without it we would be Wooden Horses with perceptions sitting inside us like soldiers.