Tragedy (n.) lets us enjoy and praise in a hero the very grief we would think shameful and womanish in ourselves.
Tragedy (n.) makes its audience laugh in the middle of weeping; pleasure and pain sit in the same seat.
Tragedy (n.) at its truest is a well-ordered state, staging the finest and noblest life — a drama only true law can produce to perfection.
Tragedy (n.) must leave Plato's city because it feeds and strengthens the pity in us, treating as weighty what deserves little seriousness.
Tragedy (n.) is bent, for all its majesty, on gratifying the spectators rather than daring to say what is unpleasant but good for them — which makes it a form of flattery.
Tragedy (n.) is nothing other than the proper arrangement of its parts — knowing how to make passages pitiful or terrifying is only the preliminaries, not the art.