How great would be our peril if our slaves began to number us!

The condition of all who are preoccupied is wretched, but most wretched is the condition of those who labor at preoccupations that are not even their own, who regulate their sleep by that of another, their walk by the pace of another, who are under orders in case of the freest things in the world-loving and hating. If these wish to know how short their life is, let them reflect how small a part of it is their own.

The mind is never right but when it is at peace within itself; the soul is in heaven even while it is in the flesh, if it be purged of its natural corruptions, and taken up with divine thoughts, and contemplations.

No choice maxims - we Stoics don't practice that kind of window dressing.

Retirement without literary amusements is death itself, and a living tomb.

Look at the stars lighting up the sky: no one of them stays in the same place.

We are always complaining that our days are few, and acting as though there would be no end to them.