Speech (n.) inflames no hearer unless it reaches his ears already on fire.
Speech (n.) seems to paint the character of the speaker, so that a gentle manner makes him seem a man of probity and virtue.
Speech (n.) hides a kind of concealed singing — not the near-chant of provincial rhetoricians, but the modulation Demosthenes mocked in Aeschines.
Speech (n.) is the soul's interpreter: it agrees everywhere in the ideas it conveys, though it differs in the syllables that express them.
Speech (n.) is not the same speech once the speaker changes: reading Demosthenes' oration aloud, Aeschines asked how much more they would have admired it had they heard him deliver it.
Speech (n.) is harder to make than a poem: verse has definite rules to follow, while in speaking nothing is settled except that one must not be intemperate, cramped, prosaic or too fluent.
Speech (n.) has only one natural beginning and one natural end; like the limbs of an animal body, its parts keep their strength only when they hang together — so it is folly to hand the peroration to a second advocate.
Speech (n.) is the one gift that most distinguishes us from brute animals — so to excel others in it is to surpass mankind in the very thing by which they claim superiority over the beasts.