Aristodemus, A Friend Of Antigonus, Supposed To

The Present Offers Itself To Our Touch For Only An Instant Of Time And Then Eludes The Senses.

For He Who Gives No Fuel To Fire Puts It Out, And Likewise He Who Does Not In The Beginning Nurse His Wrath And Does Not Puff Himself Up With Anger Takes Precautions Against It And Destroys It.

Water And Our Necessary Food Are The Only Things That Wise Men Must Fight For.

The Poor Go To War, To Fight And Die For The Delights, Riches, And Superfluities Of Others.

I, For My Part, Wonder Of What Sort Of Feeling, Mind Or Reason That Man Was Possessed Who Was First To Pollute His Mouth With Gore, And To Allow His Lips To Touch The Flesh Of A Murdered Being: Who Spread His Table With The Mangled Forms Of Dead Bodies, And Claimed As Daily Food And Dainty Dishes What But Now Were Beings Endowed With Movement, Perception And With Voice. …but For The Sake Of Some Little Mouthful Of Flesh, We Deprive A Soul Of The Sun And Light, And Of That Portion Of Life And Time It Had Been Born In To The World To Enjoy.