Cicero: “But granting that you can give anyone anything you choose, you must have a care that it does not prove to be beyond his…”

But my soul, I know not how, refusing to be kept down, ever fixed its eyes upon future ages, as though from a conviction that it would begin to live only when it had left the body.

I don't wish to depreciate life, as many men and good philosophers have often done; nor do I regret having lived, for I have done so in a way that lets me think that I was not born in vain.

For nature puts a limit to living as to everything else.

Again, is there not the fact that the wisest man ever dies with the greatest cheerfulness, the most unwise with the least?