Envy Is The Antagonist Of The Fortunate.

You Are A Little Soul Carrying Around A Corpse.

Every Habit And Faculty Is Preserved And Increased By Correspondent Actions, As The Habit Of Walking, By Walking; Of Running, By Running.

You Lose Only The Things You Have

I Must Die. I Must Be Imprisoned. I Must Suffer Exile. But Must I Die Groaning? Must I Whine As Well? Can Anyone Hinder Me From Going Into Exile With A Smile? The Master Threatens To Chain Me: What Say You? Chain Me? My Leg You Will Chain--yes, But Not My Will--no, Not Even Zeus Can Conquer That.

Do Nothing In A Depressed Mood, Nor As One Afflicted, Nor As Thinking That You Are In Misery, For No One Compels You To That.