"Stranger, I deprive myself of nothing which is good, and I flatter
myself that I have found a life which is satisfactory enough, though--to
speak more precisely--there is no such thing as a good or evil life.
Nothing is itself, either virtuous or shameful, just or unjust, pleasant
or painful, good or bad. It is our opinion which gives those qualities
to things, as salt gives savour to meats."

"So then, according to you there is no certainty. You deny the truth
which the idolaters themselves have sought. You lie in ignorance--like a
tired dog sleeping in the mud."

"Stranger, it is equally useless to abuse either dogs or philosophers.
We know not what dogs are or what we are. We know nothing."

"Old man, do you belong, then, to the absurd sect of sceptics? Are you
one of those miserable fools who alike deny movement and rest, and who
know not how to distinguish between the light of the sun and the shadows
of night?"

"Friend, I am truly a sceptic, and of a sect which appears praiseworthy
to me, though it seems ridiculous to you. For the same things often
assume different appearances. The pyramids of Memphis seem at sunrise to
be cones of pink light. At sunset they look like black triangles against
the illuminated sky. But who shall solve the problem of their true
nature? You reproach me with denying appearances, when, in fact,
appearances are the only realities I recognise. The sun seems to me
illuminous, but its nature is unknown to me. I feel that fire burns--but
I know not how or why. My friend, you understand me badly. Besides, it
is indifferent to me whether I am understood one way or the other."