“By Hera, what a lovely
resting-place,” exclaimed Socrates, “with its plane tree, so tall and
spreading, and the tall agnus in full flower; it gives us shade, and makes the
place so fragrant! And the stream under the plane tree, how cool to the feet!
The freshness of the air is so pleasant! And the shrill summery music of the
cicada-choir! And the grass on a gentle slope, thick enough to lie down and
rest your head most comfortably. Dear friend, you’ve been the stranger’s
perfect guide.”
Phaedrus: “Socrates, you admirable man, you strike me as the oddest person. As you say, you are like a stranger on a visit. You never leave the town, never set your foot outside the wall.”
Socrates: “I’m a lover of learning, and trees and open country won’t teach me anything, whereas men in the town do. But you have discovered a recipe for getting me out. A hungry animal can be led by dangling a carrot in front of it; you can lead me all around Attica and wherever else you please by proffering me speeches in books. I’m going to lie down, and you choose whatever posture you find most convenient, and read.”
Phaedrus: “Then listen.”
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