Letters on Ethics: To Lucilius (The Complete Works of Lucius Annaeus Seneca)

But how are we to tear ourselves away from that folly? And when? No one is strong enough to swim on his own to safety: someone has to extend a hand; someone has to give a pull.

He who departs with the expectation of returning ought to depart calmly. Consider cycles in the natural world: you will see nothing that is actually extinguished; rather, things descend and rise again by turns. Summer is over, but another year will bring it back; winter is gone but will return in its proper months. Night has buried the sun, but day

the only thing that makes any difference is the mind that is provoked. It is like fire: what matters is not the size of the flame but what is in its path. Where the material is solid, even the biggest blaze does not ignite it; dry and combustible stuff, though, catches even a spark and makes of it an inferno. That’s how it is, dear Lucilius: the ou

let us make poverty our companion, so that fortune cannot catch us unawares. We will be less anxious in prosperity if we know how trivial a thing it is to be poor.

In just the same way, it is association with virtue or vice that makes a thing honorable or shameful.

Money will not make you equal to a god: God owns nothing. A tunic bordered with purple will not do it; God is naked. Fame will not do it, and neither will self-display and spreading one’s name far and wide:

As you progress, strive above all to be consistent with yourself. If ever you want to find out whether anything has been achieved, observe whether your intentions are the same today as they were yesterday.

But that should not convince you that the fortunate person is one surrounded by many hangers-on. They crowd around him as cattle crowd around a pond: they drink the water and stir up the mud.

The person you should praise—and imitate—is the one who enjoys living and yet is not reluctant to die. For what virtue is there in departing only when you are cast out? Yet there is virtue here too: I am indeed being cast out, and yet it is as if I am making my departure.