Little Journeys to the Homes of the Great Philosophers, Volume 8

I do not think it possible for a better man to be injured by a worse. . To a good man nothing is evil, neither while living nor when dead, nor are his concerns neglected by the gods. It was four hundred seventy years before Christ that Socrates was born. He never wrote a book, never made a formal address, held no public office, wrote no letters, yet his words have come down to us sharp, vivid and crystalline. His face, form and features are to us familiar—his goggle eyes, bald head, snub nose and bow-legs! The habit of his life—his goings and comings, his arguments and wrangles, his infinite leisure, his sublime patience, his perfect faith—all these things are plain, lifting the man out commonplace and setting him apart.