Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.
Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god.
Interpretation
What this quote means
This quote suggests that those who find joy in solitude are either immensely powerful or fundamentally isolated.
Aristotle's quote reflects the dual nature of solitude, implying that finding delight in being alone can indicate an extraordinary state of being, akin to divinity, or a primitive existence, similar to a wild beast. Solitude can be a sanctuary for deep reflection and personal growth, but it can also lead to alienation if one becomes disconnected from society. The essence of this statement invites us to contemplate our relationship with solitude and the extremes it can represent.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
A motivational speaker might use this quote to emphasize the importance of introspection during a personal development seminar.
More from Aristotle
All quotes βThose who cannot bravely face danger are the slaves of their attackers.
For often, when one is asleep, there is something in consciousness which declares that what then presents itself is but a dream.
You will never do anything in this world without courage. It is the greatest quality of the mind next to honor.
But if nothing but soul, or in soul mind, is qualified to count, it is impossible for there to be time unless there is soul, but only that of which time is an attribute, i.e. if change can exist without soul.
The whole is more than the sum of its parts.
Similar quotes
We are in an age of religious complexity. The simplicity which is in Christ is rarely found among us. In its stead are programs, methods, organizations, and a world of nervous activities which occupy time and attention but can never satisfy the longing of the heart.
In seasons of tumult and discord bad men have most power; mental and moral excellence require peace and quietness.
Our crime against criminals lies in the fact that we treat them like rascals.
There sighs, lamentations and loud wailings resounded through the starless air, so that at first it made me weep; strange tongues, horrible language, words of pain, tones of anger, voices loud and hoarse, and with these the sound of hands, made a tumult which is whirling through that air forever dark, and sand eddies in a whirlwind.
Written language must be considered as a particular psychic reality. The book is permanent; it is an object in your field of vision. It speaks to you with a monotonous authority which even its author would not have. You are fairly obliged to read what is written.
But there are times when the little cloud spreads, until it obscures the sky. And those times I look around at my fellow men and I am reminded of some likeness of the beast-people, and I feel as though the animal is surging up in them. And I know they are neither wholly animal nor holy man, but an unstable combination of both.