I was still more concerned (a preference which you may be far from resenting) to strike a blow for Epicurus, that great man whose holiness and divinity of nature were not shams, who alone had and imparted true insight into the good, and who brought deliverance to all that consorted with him.

Be grateful. By slaying you now, I spare you an eternity of torment.

Death is a mercy, and I have enough mercy to go around.

The subject matter is autobiographical, it's all to do with hope and memory and sensuality and involvement, really.

How gracious are the gods in bestowing high positions; and how reluctant are they to insure them when given.

The wealth of the soul is the only true wealth.

The poor wretches have convinced themselves that they are going to be immortal and live for all time, by worshipping that crucified sophist and living under his laws...they receive these doctrines by tradition, without any definite evidence. So if any charlatan or trickster comes among them, he quickly acquires wealth by imposing upon these simple people.