Tusculan Disputations quotes

Do we imagine that if it had been considered commendable in Fabius, a man of the highest rank, to paint, we should not have had many Polycleti and Parrhasii?

Honor nourishes art, and glory is the spur with all to studies; while those studies are always neglected in every nation which are looked upon disparagingly.

The Greeks held skill in vocal and instrumental music as a very important accomplishment, and therefore it is recorded of Epaminondas, who, in my opinion, was the greatest man among the Greeks, that he played excellently on the flute;

I am sorry to hear that.

Because I could have been very eloquent in speaking against them.

And who could not on such a subject? or what trouble is it to refute these monstrous inventions of the poets and painters?

And yet you have books of philosophers full of arguments against these.

A great waste of time, truly! for who is so weak as to be concerned about them?

If, then, there is no one miserable in the infernal regions, there can be no one there at all.

Even so, and yet they are miserable for this very reason, that they have no existence.

I had rather now have you afraid of Cerberus than speak thus inaccurately.

Because you admit him to exist whose existence you deny with the same breath. Where now is your sagacity? When you say anyone is miserable, you say that he who does not exist, does exist.

and what is a more perfect specimen of a man than those are who look on themselves as born for the assistance, the protection, and the preservation of others?

Hercules has gone to heaven; he never would have gone thither had he not, while among men, made that road for himself.

These things are of old date, and have, besides, the sanction of universal religion. What will you say? What do you imagine that so many and such great men of our republic, who have sacrificed their lives for its good, expected?

I had rather—so help me Hercules!—be mistaken with Plato, whom I know how much you esteem, and whom I admire myself, from what you say of him, than be in the right with those others.

I commend you, for indeed I could myself willingly be mistaken in his company.

Do we, then, doubt, as we do in other cases (though I think here is very little room for doubt in this case, for the mathematicians prove the facts to us), that the earth is placed in the midst of the world, being, as it …

Dicaearchus, indeed, and Aristoxenus, because it was hard to understand the existence and substance and nature of the soul, asserted that there was no such thing as a soul at all.

It is, indeed, the most difficult thing imaginable to discern the soul by the soul.

And this, doubtless, is the meaning of the precept of Apollo, which advises everyone to know himself. For I do not apprehend the meaning of the God to have been that we should understand our members, our stature, and form;

not that he would forcibly break from the chains that held him, for that would be against the law; but, like a man released from prison by a magistrate or some lawful authority, so he too would walk away, being released and discharged by God.

For the whole life of a philosopher is, as the same philosopher says, a meditation on death.

For what else is it that we do, when we call off our minds from pleasure, that is to say, from our attention to the body, from the managing our domestic estate, which is a sort of handmaid and servant of the body, or from …

What else is it, I say, that we do, but invite the soul to reflect on itself? oblige it to converse with itself, and, as far as possible, break off its acquaintance with the body?

Now, to separate the soul from the body, is to learn to die, and nothing else whatever.

Wherefore take my advice and let us meditate on this, and separate ourselves as far as possible from the body; that is to say: let us accustom ourselves to die.

You have lamented it sufficiently in your book on Consolation, and when I read that, there is nothing which I desire more than to leave these things; but that desire is increased a great deal by what I have just heard.

The time will come, and that soon, and with equal certainty whether you hang back or press forward; for time flies.

But death is so far from being an evil, as it lately appeared to you, that I am inclined to suspect, not that there is no other thing which is an evil to man, but rather that there is nothing else which is a real …

They who make the least of death consider it as having a great resemblance to sleep—as if anyone would choose to live ninety years on condition that, at the expiration of sixty, he should sleep out the remainder.

The very swine would not accept of life on those terms, much less I.

Endymion, indeed, if you listen to fables, slept once on a time on Latmus, a mountain of Caria, and for such a length of time that I imagine he is not as yet awake.

The very swine would not accept of life on those terms, much less I.

Endymion, indeed, if you listen to fables, slept once on a time on Latmus, a mountain of Caria, and for such a length of time that I imagine he is not as yet awake.

Do you think that he is concerned at the Moon’s being in difficulties, though it was by her that he was thrown into that sleep, in order that she might kiss him while sleeping.

Away, then, with those follies, which are little better than the old women’s dreams, such as that it is miserable to die before our time. What time do you mean? That of nature?

But she has only lent you life, as she might lend you money, without fixing any certain time for its repayment.

Have you any grounds of complaint, then, that she recalls it at her pleasure? for you received it on these terms. They that complain thus allow that if a young child dies, the survivors ought to bear his loss with equanimity;

Those that die at the eighth hour die in full age; those who die when the sun sets are very old, especially when the days are at the longest.

Compare our longest life with eternity, and we shall be found almost as short-lived as those little animals.

Let us, then, despise all these follies—for what softer name can I give to such levities?—and let us lay the foundation of our happiness in the strength and greatness of our minds, in a contempt and disregard of all earthly things, and in the practice …

In this manner he proceeded. There is no part of his speech which I admire more than his last words: “But it is time,” says he, “for me now to go hence, that I may die; and for you, that you may continue to live.

Which condition of the two is the best, the immortal Gods know, but I do not believe that any mortal man does.

” Surely I would rather have had this man’s soul than all the fortunes of those who sat in judgment on him, although that very thing which he says no one except the Gods know, namely, whether life or death is most preferable, he knows …

This was a brave nation while the laws of Lycurgus were in force. One of them, when a Persian had said to him in conversation, “We shall hide the sun from your sight by the number of our arrows and darts,” replied, “

We shall fight, then in the shade.

” Do I talk of their men?

One of them, when a Persian had said to him in conversation, “We shall hide the sun from your sight by the number of our arrows and darts,” replied, “We shall fight, then in the shade.” Do I talk of their men?

How great was that Lacedaemonian woman, who had sent her son to battle, and when she heard that he was slain, said, “I bore him for that purpose, that you might have a man who durst die for his country!”

However, it is a matter of notoriety that the Spartans were bold and hardy, for the discipline of a republic has great influence.

Diogenes was rougher, though of the same opinion, but in his character of a Cynic he expressed himself in a somewhat harsher manner: he ordered himself to be thrown anywhere without being buried. And when his friends replied, “What? to the birds and beasts?”

“By no means,” says he; “place my staff near me, that I may drive them away.”

“How can you do that,” they answer, “for you will not perceive them?” “How am I then injured by being torn by those animals, if I have no sensation?”

Anaxagoras, when he was at the point of death at Lampsacus, and was asked by his friends, whether, if anything should happen to him, he would not choose to be carried to Clazomenae, his country, made this excellent answer,

“There is,” says he, “no occasion for that, for all places are at an equal distance from the infernal regions.”

There is one thing to be observed with respect to the whole subject of burial, that it relates to the body, whether the soul live or die.

only they should at the same time consider that the dead are noways interested in it. But death truly is then met with the greatest tranquility when the dying man can comfort himself with his own praise.

No one dies too soon who has finished the course of perfect virtue.

I myself have known many occasions when I have seemed in danger of immediate death—oh! how I wish it had come to me! for I have gained nothing by the delay. I had gone over and over again the duties of life;

I am not at all surprised at that, for it is the effect of philosophy, which is the medicine of our souls.

It banishes all groundless apprehensions, frees us from desires, and drives away fears.

But it has not the same influence over all men; it is of very great influence when it falls in with a disposition well adapted to it.

… if one who professed to teach grammar should speak with impropriety, or a master of music sing out of tune, such conduct has the worst appearance in these men, because they blunder in the very particular with which they profess that they are well acquainted.

So a philosopher who errs in the conduct of his life is the more infamous because he is erring in the very thing which he pretends to teach, and, while he lays down rules to regulate life by, is irregular in his own life.

Should this be the case, is it not to be feared that you are dressing up philosophy in false colors? For what stronger argument can there be that it is of little use than that some very profound philosophers live in a discreditable manner?

I do not require of you to speak of pain in the same words which Epicurus uses—a man, as you know, devoted to pleasure.

He may make no difference, if he pleases, between Phalaris’s bull and his own bed.

But I cannot allow the wise man to be so indifferent about pain. If he bears it with courage, it is sufficient; that he should rejoice in it, I do not expect.

Both these feelings, the Greeks, whose language is more copious than ours, express by the common name of Πόνος. Therefore they call industrious men painstaking, or, rather, fond of labor; we, more conveniently, call them laborious, for laboring is one thing, and enduring pain another.

You see, O Greece! your barrenness of words sometimes, though you think you are always so rich in them.

I say, then, that there is a difference between laboring and being in pain. When Caius Marius had an operation performed for a swelling in his thigh, he felt pain; when he headed his troops in a very hot season, he labored.

Besides, to me, indeed, everything seems the more commendable the less the people are courted, and the fewer eyes there are to see it.

Not that you should avoid the public, for every generous action loves the public view, yet no theatre for virtue is equal to a consciousness of it.

And let this be principally considered: that this bearing of pain, which I have often said is to be strengthened by an exertion of the soul, should be the same in everything.

For glory is a real and express substance, not a mere shadow. It consists in the united praise of good men, the free voice of those who form a true judgment of preeminent virtue.

It is, as it were, the very echo of virtue, and being generally the attendant on laudable actions, should not be slighted by good men.

But popular fame, which would pretend to imitate it, is hasty and inconsiderate, and generally commends wicked and immoral actions, and throws discredit upon the appearance and beauty of honesty by assuming a resemblance of it.

And do you think a wise man subject to these?

Then that boasted wisdom is but of small account, if it differs so little from madness?

What? does every commotion of the mind seem to you to be madness?

And so, indeed, I think.

It is natural enough to think so, for we are not the offspring of flints, but we have by nature something soft and tender in our souls, which may be put into a violent motion by grief, as by a storm.

Nor did that Crantor, who was one of the most distinguished men that our Academy has ever produced, say this amiss:

Do you, then, think that it can befall a wise man to be oppressed with grief, that is to say, with misery? for, as all perturbation is misery, grief is the rack itself.

Lust is attended with heat, exulting joy with levity, fear with meanness, but grief with something greater than these: it consumes, torments, afflicts, and disgraces a man; it tears him, preys upon his mind, and utterly destroys him.

If we do not so divest ourselves of it as to throw it completely off, we cannot be free from misery. And it is clear that there must be grief where anything has the appearance of a present sore and oppressing evil.

For he thinks that the mind may possibly be under the power of reason, and follow her directions. He forbids us, therefore, to mind trouble, and calls us off from sorrowful reflections.

He throws a mist over our eyes to hinder us from the contemplation of misery.

Having sounded a retreat from this statement, he drives our thoughts on again, and encourages them to view and engage the whole mind in the various pleasures with which he thinks the life of a wise man abounds, either from reflecting on the past, or …

What follows is much the same, and his whole book on the chief good everywhere abounds with the same opinions. Will you, then, invite Telamon to this kind of life to ease his grief?

And should you observe any one of your friends under affliction, would you rather prescribe him a sturgeon than a treatise of Socrates?

or advise him to listen to the music of a water organ rather than to Plato?

But he commends virtue, and that frequently; and indeed C. Gracchus, when he had made the largest distributions of the public money, and had exhausted the treasury, nevertheless spoke much of defending the treasury.

What signifies what men say when we see what they do?

That Piso, who was surnamed Frugal, had always harangued against the law that was proposed for distributing the corn; but when it had passed, though a man of consular dignity, he came to receive the corn.

Gracchus observed Piso standing in the court, and asked him, in the hearing of the people, how it was consistent for him to take corn by a law he had himself opposed.

“I was,” said he, “against your distributing my goods to every man as you thought proper; but, as you do so, I claim my share.”

Did not this grave and wise man sufficiently show that the public revenue was dissipated by the Sempronian law? Read Gracchus’s speeches, and you will pronounce him the advocate of the treasury.

Nor, if this very book had been sent to the captives some years after, would it have found any wounds to cure, but only scars.

For grief, by a gentle progress and slow degrees, wears away imperceptibly.

Not that the circumstances which gave rise to it are altered, or can be, but that custom teaches what reason should: that those things which before seemed to be of some consequence are of no such great importance after all. It may be said:

What does that man say in Terence who punishes himself, the Self-tormentor? I think I do my son less harm, O Chremes, As long as I myself am miserable.

He determines to be miserable, and can anyone determine on anything against his will?

I well might think that I deserved all evil. He would think he deserved any misfortune were he otherwise than miserable! Therefore, you see, the evil is in opinion, not in nature.

but when they reached Tyre, they began to grieve and lament over him. Therefore, as fear with them prevailed over grief, cannot reason and true philosophy have the same effect with a wise man?

But what is there more effectual to dispel grief than the discovery that it answers no purpose, and has been undergone to no account?

Therefore, if we can get rid of it, we need never have been subject to it. It must be acknowledged, then, that men take up grief wilfully and knowingly.

… which they recommend to others are not more faulty in this particular than most other persons, for we see that covetous men find fault with others who are covetous, as do the vainglorious with those who appear too wholly devoted to the pursuit of glory.

For it is the peculiar characteristic of folly to perceive the vices of others, but to forget its own.

But since we find that grief is removed by length of time, we have the greatest proof that the strength of it depends not merely on time, but on the daily consideration of it.

These are those fibres of the roots which, as I said at first, must be traced back and cut off and destroyed, so that not one shall remain.

You say it is a great and difficult undertaking: who denies it? But what is there of any excellency which has not its difficulty?

Yet philosophy undertakes to effect it, provided we admit its superintendence. But enough of this. The other books, whenever you please, shall be ready for you here or anywhere else.

The poets, to express the greatness of this evil, imagine a stone to hang over the head of Tantalus, as a punishment for his wickedness, his pride, and his boasting.

And this is the common punishment of folly, for there hangs over the head of everyone whose mind revolts from reason some similar fear.

And as these perturbations of the mind, grief and fear, are of a most wasting nature, so those two others, though of a more merry cast (I mean lust, which is always coveting something with eagerness, and empty mirth, which is an exulting joy), differ …

Now, to these let us add some acute pains of body, the loss of his fortune, blindness, banishment. Supposing, then, each separate misfortune to occasion a separate additional grief, the whole would be too great to be supportable.

The man who attempts to set bounds to vice acts like one who should throw himself headlong from Leucate, persuaded that he could stop himself whenever he pleased.

Now as that is impossible, so a perturbed and disordered mind cannot restrain itself and stop where it pleases. Certainly whatever is bad in its increase is bad in its birth.

Now as that is impossible, so a perturbed and disordered mind cannot restrain itself and stop where it pleases.

Certainly whatever is bad in its increase is bad in its birth.

Now grief and all other perturbations are doubtless baneful in their progress, and have, therefore, no small share of evil at the beginning.

Certainly whatever is bad in its increase is bad in its birth. Now grief and all other perturbations are doubtless baneful in their progress, and have, therefore, no small share of evil at the beginning.

For they go on of themselves when once they depart from reason, for every weakness is self-indulgent, and indiscreetly launches out and does not know where to stop.

So that it makes no difference whether you approve of moderate perturbations of mind, or of moderate injustice, moderate cowardice, and moderate intemperance;

Or was Theseus in a passion when he seized on the horns of the Marathonian bull? Take care how you make courage to depend in the least on rage.

For anger is altogether irrational, and that is not courage which is void of reason.

We ought to hold all things here in contempt: death is to be looked on with indifference; pains and labors must be considered as easily supportable.

I do not know whether I have done anything in the republic that has the appearance of courage, but if I have, I certainly did not do it in wrath.

Does anything come nearer madness than anger?

And indeed Ennius has well defined it as the beginning of madness.

There is certainly some remedy; nor has nature been so unkind to the human race as to have discovered so many things salutary to the body, and none which are medicinal to the mind.

She has even been kinder to the mind than to the body, inasmuch as you must seek abroad for the assistance which the body requires, while the mind has all that it requires within itself.

But in proportion as the excellency of the mind is of a higher and more divine nature, the more diligence does it require.

Whose mighty power whate’er is good effects, Who gives to each his beauty and defects: Hence, health and sickness; wit and folly, hence, The God that love and hatred doth dispense!

An excellent corrector of life this same poetry, which thinks that love, the promoter of debauchery and vanity, should have a place in the council of the Gods!

I am speaking of comedy, which could not subsist at all without our approving of these debaucheries. But what said that chief of the Argonauts in tragedy? My life I owe to honor less than love.

very often the cure is effected by change of place, as sick people that have not recovered their strength are benefited by change of air.

Some people think an old love may be driven out by a new one, as one nail drives out another.

But, above all things, the man thus afflicted should be advised what madness love is, for of all the perturbations of the mind, there is not one which is more vehement.

But the expression of cooling implies, certainly, that there was a heat raised in their minds in opposition to reason, from which consideration that saying of Archytas is commended, who being somewhat provoked at his steward,

“How would I have treated you,” said he, “if I had not been in a passion?”

Where, then, are they who say that anger has its use? Can madness be of any use? But still it is natural. Can anything be natural that is against reason?

But the cure of grief and of other disorders is one and the same in that they are all voluntary, and founded on opinion; we take them on ourselves because it seems right so to do.

Philosophy undertakes to eradicate this error, as the root of all our evils.

Let us therefore surrender ourselves to be instructed by it, and suffer ourselves to be cured, for while these evils have possession of us, we not only cannot be happy, but cannot be right in our minds.

… has everything that can befall mankind in subjection to her, and by disregarding such things, she is far removed from being at all concerned at human accidents, and, being free from every imperfection, she thinks that nothing which is external to herself can concern her.

But we, who increase every approaching evil by our fear, and every present one by our grief, choose rather to condemn the nature of things than our own errors.

But the amendment of this fault, and of all our other vices and offences, is to be sought for in philosophy.

You have been our instructress in morals and discipline. To you we fly for refuge; from you we implore assistance. And as I formerly submitted to you in a great degree, so now I surrender up myself entirely to you.

For one day spent well, and agreeably to your precepts, is preferable to an eternity of error.

Whose assistance, then, can be of more service to me than yours, when you have bestowed on us tranquillity of life, and removed the fear of death?

And as my own inclination and desire led me, from my earliest youth upward, to seek her protection, so, under my present misfortunes, I have had recourse to the same port from whence I set out, after having been tossed by a violent tempest.

O Philosophy, thou guide of life! thou discoverer of virtue and expeller of vices! what had not only I myself, but the whole life of man, been without you?

To you it is that we owe the origin of cities. You it was who called together the dispersed race of men into social life.

O Philosophy, thou guide of life! thou discoverer of virtue and expeller of vices! what had not only I myself, but the whole life of man, been without you? To you it is that we owe the origin of cities.

You it was who called together the dispersed race of men into social life.

You united them together, first, by placing them near one another, then by marriages, and lastly, by the communication of speech and languages. You have been the inventress of laws. You have been our instructress in morals and discipline. To you we fly for refuge;

These made diligent inquiry into the magnitude of the stars, their distances, courses, and all that relates to the heavens.

But Socrates was the first who brought down philosophy from the heavens, placed it in cities, introduced it into families, and obliged it to examine into life and morals and good and evil.

And his different methods of discussing questions, together with the variety of his topics, and the greatness of his abilities, being immortalized by the memory and writings of Plato, gave rise to many sects of philosophers of different sentiments, of all which I have principally …

Therefore, as these men are miserable, so, on the other hand, those are happy who are alarmed by no fears, wasted by no griefs, provoked by no lusts, melted by no languid pleasures that arise from vain and exulting joys.

We look on the sea as calm when not the least breath of air disturbs its waves; and, in like manner, the placid and quiet state of the mind is discovered when unmoved by any perturbation.

Now, if there be anyone who holds the power of fortune, and everything human, everything that can possibly befall any man, as supportable, so as to be out of the reach of fear or anxiety, and if such a man covets nothing, and is lifted …

And this very thing, too, Metrodorus has said, but in better language:

“I have anticipated you, Fortune; I have caught you, and cut off every access, so that you cannot possibly reach me.”

This would be excellent in the mouth of Aristo the Chian, or Zeno the Stoic, who held nothing to be an evil but what was base.

Why, you may instantly be deprived of that good. Yet the simple are taken with these propositions, and a vast crowd is led away by such sentences to become their followers.

But it is the duty of one who would argue accurately to consider not what is said, but what is said consistently.

As in that very opinion which we have adopted in this discussion, namely, that every good man is always happy, it is clear what I mean by good men: I call those both wise and good men who are provided and adorned with every virtue.

What? you would convict me from my own words, and bring against me what I had said or written elsewhere. You may act in that manner with those who dispute by established rules.

We live from hand to mouth, and say anything that strikes our mind with probability, so that we are the only people who are really at liberty.

But, since I just now spoke of consistency, I do not think the inquiry in this place is if the opinion of Zeno and his pupil Aristo be true, that nothing is good but what is honorable, but, admitting that, then, whether the whole of …

Thus all things will be prosperous, perfect, and as you would have them, and, consequently, happy. But virtue is sufficient for living with courage, and therefore virtue is able by herself to make life happy.

For as folly, even when possessed of what it desires, never thinks it has acquired enough, so wisdom is always satisfied with the present, and never repents on her own account.

Look but on the single consulship of Laelius, and that, too, after having been set aside (though when a wise and good man like him is outvoted, the people are disappointed of a good consul, rather than be disappointed by a vain people);

… to him by ties of love after the fashion of the Greeks, he could not trust any one of them, but committed the guard of his person to slaves whom he had selected from rich men’s families and made free, and to strangers and barbarians.

And thus, through an unjust desire of governing, he in a manner shut himself up in a prison.

Besides, he would not trust his throat to a barber, but had his daughters taught to shave, so that these royal virgins were forced to descend to the base and slavish employment of shaving the head and beard of their father.

But he was so concerned at what he had done that nothing affected him more during his whole life, for he had slain one to whom he was extremely partial.

Thus do weak men’s desires pull them different ways, and while they indulge one, they act counter to another.

This tyrant, however, showed himself how happy he really was.

When we could get at it, and were come near to the front of the pedestal, I found the inscription, though the latter parts of all the verses were effaced almost half away.

Thus one of the noblest cities of Greece, and one which at one time likewise had been very celebrated for learning, had known nothing of the monument of its greatest genius, if it had not been discovered to them by a native of Arpinum.

But to return to the subject from which I have been digressing:

She in whose favor it is determined exults greatly, and being attended by her relations, is laid on the funeral pile with her husband; the others, who are postponed, walk away very much dejected.

Custom can never be superior to nature, for nature is never to be got the better of.

But our minds are infected by sloth and idleness, and luxury, and languor, and indolence: we have enervated them by opinions and bad customs. Who is there who is unacquainted with the customs of the Egyptians?

Socrates, when on one occasion he saw a great quantity of gold and silver carried in a procession, cried out,

“How many things are there which I do not want!”

Xenocrates, when some ambassadors from Alexander had brought him fifty talents (which was a very large sum of money in those times, especially at Athens), carried the ambassadors to sup in the Academy, and placed just a sufficiency before them, without any apparatus.

But when he perceived that they were somewhat dejected, he accepted of thirty minas, that he might not seem to treat with disrespect the king’s generosity. But Diogenes took a greater liberty, like a Cynic, when Alexander asked him if he wanted anything:

“Just at present,” said he, “I wish that you would stand a little out of the line between me and the sun,”

for Alexander was hindering him from sunning himself. And, indeed, this very man used to maintain how much he surpassed the Persian king in his manner of life and fortune:

The like notions are applied by them to high living; and the magnificence and expensiveness of entertainments are deprecated, because nature is satisfied at a small expense.

For who does not see this, that an appetite is the best sauce?

When Darius, in his flight from the enemy, had drunk some water which was muddy and tainted with dead bodies, he declared that he had never drunk anything more pleasant; the fact was that he had never drunk before when he was thirsty.

Hence you discover the mistake of Sardanapalus, the wealthiest king of the Assyrians, who ordered it to be engraved on his tomb, I still have what in food I did exhaust; But what I left, though excellent, is lost.

“What less than this,” says Aristotle, “could be inscribed on the tomb, not of a king, but an ox?”

He said that he possessed those things when dead, which, in his lifetime, he could have no longer than while he was enjoying them. Why, then, are riches desired? And wherein does poverty prevent us from being happy?

What could be weaker than this? and yet what an orator he was!

But although he had learned to speak to others, he had conversed but little with himself.

We may perceive, therefore, that popular glory is not desirable of itself; nor is obscurity to be dreaded. “I came to Athens,” said Democritus, “and there was no one there that knew me.”

and yet what an orator he was! But although he had learned to speak to others, he had conversed but little with himself. We may perceive, therefore, that popular glory is not desirable of itself; nor is obscurity to be dreaded.

“I came to Athens,” said Democritus, “and there was no one there that knew me.”

This was a moderate and grave man who could glory in his obscurity. Shall musicians compose their tunes to their own tastes?

so that in whatever place that is supplied, there they may live happily. Thus what Teucer said may be applied to every case: Wherever I am happy is my country.

Socrates, indeed, when he was asked where he belonged to, replied, “The world,” for he looked upon himself as a citizen and inhabitant of the whole world.

How was it with T. Altibutius? Did he not follow his philosophical studies with the greatest satisfaction at Athens, although he was banished? which, however, would not have happened to him if he had obeyed the laws of Epicurus and lived peaceably in the republic.

For it is the mind which is entertained by what we see, but the mind may be entertained in many ways, even though we could not see at all.

I am speaking of a learned and a wise man, with whom to think is to live.

But thinking in the case of a wise man does not altogether require the use of his eyes in his investigations; for if night does not strip him of his happiness, why should blindness, which resembles night, have that effect?

For the reply of Antipater the Cyrenaic to some women who bewailed his being blind, though it is a little too obscene, is not without its significance.

“What do you mean?” said he; “do you think the night can furnish no pleasure?”

And we find by his magistracies and his actions that old Appius, too, who was blind for many years, was not prevented from doing whatever was required of him with respect either to the republic or his own affairs. It is said that C.

So that, as the most extreme poverty may be borne if you please, as is daily the case with some in Greece, so blindness may easily be borne, provided you have the support of good health in other respects.

Democritus was so blind he could not distinguish white from black; but he knew the difference between good and evil, just and unjust, honorable and base, the useful and useless, great and small.

Thus one may live happily without distinguishing colors; but without acquainting yourself with things, you cannot. And this man was of opinion that the intense application of the mind was taken off by the objects that presented themselves to the eye;

Democritus was so blind he could not distinguish white from black; but he knew the difference between good and evil, just and unjust, honorable and base, the useful and useless, great and small.

Thus one may live happily without distinguishing colors; but without acquainting yourself with things, you cannot.

And this man was of opinion that the intense application of the mind was taken off by the objects that presented themselves to the eye; and while others often could not see what was before their feet, he travelled through all infinity.

should we be under any difficulty? For there is a retreat at hand: death is that retreat—a shelter where we shall forever be insensible.

Theodorus said to Lysimachus, who threatened him with death, “It is a great matter, indeed, for you to have acquired the power of a Spanish fly!”

When Perses entreated Paulus not to lead him in triumph, “That is a matter which you have in your own power,” said Paulus. I said many things about death in our first day’s disputation, when death was the subject;

besides, they may have more pleasure in reading verses than in hearing them sung. Then, as I before referred the blind to the pleasures of hearing, so I may the deaf to the pleasures of sight.

Moreover, whoever can converse with himself does not need the conversation of another.

But suppose all these misfortunes to meet in one person: suppose him blind and deaf—let him be afflicted with the sharpest pains of body, which, in the first place, generally of themselves make an end of him;