THE EIGHTH BOOK

I. This also, among other things, may serve to keep thee from vainglory;
if thou shalt consider, that thou art now altogether incapable of the
commendation of one, who all his life long, or from his youth at least,
hath lived a philosopher’s life. For both unto others, and to thyself
especially, it is well known, that thou hast done many things contrary to
that perfection of life. Thou hast therefore been confounded in thy
course, and henceforth it will be hard for thee to recover the title and
credit of a philosopher. And to it also is thy calling and profession
repugnant. If therefore thou dost truly understand, what it is that is of
moment indeed; as for thy fame and credit, take no thought or care for
that: let it suffice thee if all the rest of thy life, be it more or less,
thou shalt live as thy nature requireth, or according to the true and
natural end of thy making. Take pains therefore to know what it is that
thy nature requireth, and let nothing else distract thee. Thou hast
already had sufficient experience, that of those many things that hitherto
thou hast erred and wandered about, thou couldst not find happiness in any
of them. Not in syllogisms, and logical subtilties, not in wealth, not in
honour and reputation, not in pleasure. In none of all these. Wherein then
is it to be found? In the practice of those things, which the nature of
man, as he is a man, doth require. How then shall he do those things? if
his dogmata, or moral tenets and opinions (from which all motions and
actions do proceed), be right and true. Which be those dogmata? Those that
concern that which is good or evil, as that there is nothing truly good
and beneficial unto man, but that which makes him just, temperate,
courageous, liberal; and that there is nothing truly evil and hurtful unto
man, but that which causeth the contrary effects.

II. Upon every action that thou art about, put this question to thyself;
How will this when it is done agree with me? Shall I have no occasion to
repent of it? Yet a very little while and I am dead and gone; and all
things are at end. What then do I care for more than this, that my present
action whatsoever it be, may be the proper action of one that is
reasonable; whose end is, the common good; who in all things is ruled and
governed by the same law of right and reason, by which God Himself is.

III. Alexander, Caius, Pompeius; what are these to Diogenes, Heraclitus,
and Socrates? These penetrated into the true nature of things; into all
causes, and all subjects: and upon these did they exercise their power and
authority. But as for those, as the extent of their error was, so far did
their slavery extend.

IV. What they have done, they will still do, although thou shouldst hang
thyself. First; let it not trouble thee. For all things both good and
evil: come to pass according to the nature and general condition of the
universe, and within a very little while, all things will be at an end; no
man will be remembered: as now of Africanus (for example) and Augustus it
is already come to pass. Then secondly; fix thy mind upon the thing
itself; look into it, and remembering thyself, that thou art bound
nevertheless to be a good man, and what it is that thy nature requireth of
thee as thou art a man, be not diverted from what thou art about, and
speak that which seemeth unto thee most just: only speak it kindly,
modestly, and without hypocrisy.

V. That which the nature of the universe doth busy herself about, is;
that which is here, to transfer it thither, to change it, and thence again
to take it away, and to carry it to another place. So that thou needest
not fear any new thing. For all things are usual and ordinary; and all
things are disposed by equality.

VI. Every particular nature hath content, when in its own proper course
it speeds. A reasonable nature doth then speed, when first in matter of
fancies and imaginations, it gives no consent to that which is either
false uncertain. Secondly, when in all its motions and resolutions it
takes its level at the common good only, and that it desireth nothing, and
flieth from nothing, bet what is in its own power to compass or avoid. And
lastly, when it willingly and gladly embraceth, whatsoever is dealt and
appointed unto it by the common nature. For it is part of it; even as the
nature of any one leaf, is part of the common nature of all plants and
trees. But that the nature of a leaf, is part of a nature both
unreasonable and unsensible, and which in its proper end may be hindered;
or, which is servile and slavish: whereas the nature of man is part of a
common nature which cannot be hindered, and which is both reasonable and
just. From whence also it is, that according to the worth of everything,
she doth make such equal distribution of all things, as of duration,
substance form, operation, and of events and accidents. But herein
consider not whether thou shalt find this equality in everything
absolutely and by itself; but whether in all the particulars of some one
thing taken together, and compared with all the particulars of some other
thing, and them together likewise.

VII. Thou hast no time nor opportunity to read. What then? Hast thou
not time and opportunity to exercise thyself, not to wrong thyself; to
strive against all carnal pleasures and pains, and to get the upper hand
of them; to contemn honour and vainglory; and not only, not to be angry
with them, whom towards thee thou doest find unsensible and unthankful;
but also to have a care of them still, and of their welfare?

VIII. Forbear henceforth to complain of the trouble of a courtly life,
either in public before others, or in private by thyself.

IX. Repentance is an inward and self-reprehension for the neglect or
omission of somewhat that was profitable. Now whatsoever is good, is also
profitable, and it is the part of an honest virtuous man to set by it, and
to make reckoning of it accordingly. But never did any honest virtuous man
repent of the neglect or omission of any carnal pleasure: no carnal
pleasure then is either good or profitable.

X. This, what is it in itself, and by itself, according to its proper
constitution? What is the substance of it? What is the matter, or proper
use? What is the form or efficient cause? What is it for in this world,
and how long will it abide? Thus must thou examine all things, that
present themselves unto thee.

XI. When thou art hard to be stirred up and awaked out of thy sleep,
admonish thyself and call to mind, that, to perform actions tending to the
common good is that which thine own proper constitution, and that which
the nature of man do require. But to sleep, is common to unreasonable
creatures also. And what more proper and natural, yea what more kind and
pleasing, than that which is according to nature?

XII. As every fancy and imagination presents itself unto thee, consider
(if it be possible) the true nature, and the proper qualities of it, and
reason with thyself about it.

XIII. At thy first encounter with any one, say presently to thyself:
This man, what are his opinions concerning that which is good or evil? as
concerning pain, pleasure, and the causes of both; concerning honour, and
dishonour, concerning life and death? thus and thus. Now if it be no
wonder that a man should have such and such opinions, how can it be a
wonder that he should do such and such things? I will remember then, that
he cannot but do as he doth, holding those opinions that he doth.
Remember, that as it is a shame for any man to wonder that a fig tree
should bear figs, so also to wonder that the world should bear anything,
whatsoever it is which in the ordinary course of nature it may bear. To a
physician also and to a pilot it is a shame either for the one to wonder,
that such and such a one should have an ague; or for the other, that the
winds should prove Contrary.

XIV. Remember, that to change thy mind upon occasion, and to follow him
that is able to rectify thee, is equally ingenuous, as to find out at the
first, what is right and just, without help. For of thee nothing is
required, ti, is beyond the extent of thine own deliberation and jun.
merit, and of thine own understanding.

XV. If it were thine act and in thine own power, wouldest thou do
it? If it were not, whom dost tin accuse? the atoms, or the Gods? For to
do either, the part of a mad man. Thou must therefore blame nobody, but if
it be in thy power, redress what is amiss; if it be not, to what end is it
to complain? For nothing should be done but to some certain end.

XVI. Whatsoever dieth and falleth, however and wheresoever it die
and fall, it cannot fall out of the world, here it have its abode and
change, here also shall it have its dissolution into its proper elements.
The same are the world’s elements, and the elements of which thou dost
consist. And they when they are changed, they murmur not; why shouldest
thou?

XVII. Whatsoever is, was made for something: as a horse, a vine. Why
wonderest thou? The sun itself will say of itself, I was made for
something; and so hath every god its proper function. What then were then
made for? to disport and delight thyself? See how even common sense and
reason cannot brook it.

XVIII. Nature hath its end as well in the end and final consummation of
anything that is, as in the begin-nine and continuation of it.

XIX. As one that tosseth up a ball. And what is a ball the better, if
the motion of it be upwards; or the worse if it be downwards; or if it
chance to fall upon the ground? So for the bubble; if it continue, what it
the better? and if it dissolve, what is it the worse And so is it of a
candle too. And so must thou reason with thyself, both in matter of fame,
and in matter of death. For as for the body itself, (the subject of death)
wouldest thou know the vileness of it? Turn it about that thou mayest
behold it the worst sides upwards as well, as in its more ordinary
pleasant shape; how doth it look, when it is old and withered? when sick
and pained? when in the act of lust, and fornication? And as for fame.
This life is short. Both he that praiseth, and he that is praised; he that
remembers, and he that is remembered, will soon be dust and ashes.
Besides, it is but in one corner of this part of the world that thou art
praised; and yet in this corner, thou hast not the joint praises of all
men; no nor scarce of any one constantly. And yet the whole earth itself,
what is it but as one point, in regard of the whole world?

XX. That which must be the subject of thy consideration, is either the
matter itself, or the dogma, or the operation, or the true sense and
signification.

XXI. Most justly have these things happened unto thee: why dost not
thou amend? O but thou hadst rather become good to-morrow, than to be so
to-day.

XXII. Shall I do it? I will; so the end of my action be to do good unto
men. Doth anything by way of cross or adversity happen unto me? I accept
it, with reference unto the Gods, and their providence; the fountain of
all things, from which whatsoever comes to pass, doth hang and depend.

XXIII. By one action judge of the rest: this bathing which usually takes
up so much of our time, what is it? Oil, sweat, filth; or the sordes of
the body: an excrementitious viscosity, the excrements of oil and other
ointments used about the body, and mixed with the sordes of the body: all
base and loathsome. And such almost is every part of our life; and every
worldly object.

XXIV. Lucilla buried Verus; then was Lucilla herself buried by others.
So Secunda Maximus, then Secunda herself. So Epitynchanus, Diotimus; then
Epitynchanus himself. So Antoninus Pius, Faustina his wife; then Antoninus
himself. This is the course of the world. First Celer, Adrianus; then
Adrianus himself. And those austere ones; those that foretold other men’s
deaths; those that were so proud and stately, where are they now? Those
austere ones I mean, such as were Charax, and Demetrius the Platonic, and
Eudaemon, and others like unto those. They were all but for one day; all
dead and gone long since. Some of them no sooner dead, than forgotten.
Others soon turned into fables. Of others, even that which was fabulous,
is now long since forgotten. This thereafter thou must remember, that
whatsoever thou art compounded of, shall soon be dispersed, and that thy
life and breath, or thy soul, shall either be no more or shall ranslated
(sp.), and appointed to some certain place and station.

XXV. The true joy of a man, is to do that which properly belongs unto a
man. That which is most proper unto a man, is, first, to be kindly
affected towards them that are of the same kind and nature as he is
himself to contemn all sensual motions and appetites, to discern rightly
all plausible fancies and imaginations, to contemplate the nature of the
universe; both it, and things that are done in it. In which kind of
contemplation three several relations are to be observed The first, to the
apparent secondary cause. The Second to the first original cause, God,
from whom originally proceeds whatsoever doth happen in the world. The
third and last, to them that we live and converse with: what use may be
made of it, to their use and benefit.

XXVI. If pain be an evil, either it is in regard of the body; (and that
cannot be, because the body of itself is altogether insensible:) or in
regard of the soul But it is in the power of the soul, to preserve her own
peace and tranquillity, and not to suppose that pain is evil. For all
judgment and deliberation; all prosecution, or aversation is from within,
whither the sense of evil (except it be let in by opinion) cannot
penetrate.

XXVII. Wipe off all idle fancies, and say unto thyself incessantly; Now
if I will, it is in my power to keep out of this my soul all wickedness,
all lust, and concupiscences, all trouble and confusion. But on the
contrary to behold and consider all things according to their true nature,
and to carry myself towards everything according to its true worth.
Remember then this thy power that nature hath given thee.

XXVIII. Whether thou speak in the Senate or whether thou speak to any
particular, let thy speech In always grave and modest. But thou must not
openly and vulgarly observe that sound and exact form of speaking,
concerning that which is truly good and truly civil; the vanity of the
world, and of worldly men: which otherwise truth and reason doth
prescribe.

XXIX. Augustus his court; his wife, his daughter, his nephews, his
sons-in-law his sister, Agrippa, his kinsmen, his domestics, his friends;
Areus, Mæcenas, his slayers of beasts for sacrifice and divination: there
thou hast the death of a whole court together. Proceed now on to the rest
that have been since that of Augustus. Hath death dwelt with them
otherwise, though so many and so stately whilst they lived, than it doth
use to deal with any one particular man? Consider now the death of a
whole kindred and family, as of that of the Pompeys, as that also that
useth to be written upon some monuments, HE WAS THE LAST OF HIS
OWN KINDRED. O what care did his predecessors take, that they
might leave a successor, yet behold at last one or other must of
necessity be THE LAST. Here again therefore consider the
death of a whole kindred.

XXX. Contract thy whole life to the measure and proportion of one single
action. And if in every particular action thou dost perform what is
fitting to the utmost of thy power, let it suffice thee. And who can
hinder thee, but that thou mayest perform what is fitting? But there may
be some outward let and impediment. Not any, that can hinder thee, but
that whatsoever thou dost, thou may do it, justly, temperately, and with
the praise of God. Yea, but there may be somewhat, whereby some operation
or other of thine may be hindered. And then, with that very thing that
doth hinder, thou mayest he well pleased, and so by this gentle and
equanimious conversion of thy mind unto that which may be, instead of that
which at first thou didst intend, in the room of that former action there
succeedeth another, which agrees as well with this contraction of thy
life, that we now speak of.

XXXI. Receive temporal blessings without ostentation, when they are sent
and thou shalt be able to part with them with all readiness and facility
when they are taken from thee again.

XXXII. If ever thou sawest either a hand, or a foot, or a head lying by
itself, in some place or other, as cut off from the rest of the body,
such must thou conceive him to make himself, as much as in him lieth,
that either is offended with anything that is happened, (whatsoever it
be) and as it were divides himself from it: or that commits anything
against the natural law of mutual correspondence, and society among men:
or, he that, commits any act of uncharitableness. Whosoever thou art,
thou art such, thou art cast forth I know not whither out of the general
unity, which is according to nature. Thou went born indeed a part, but
now thou hast cut thyself off. However, herein is matter of joy and
exultation, that thou mayst be united again. God hath not granted it unto
any other part, that once separated and cut off, it might be reunited,
and come together again. But, behold, that GOODNESS how
great and immense it is! which hath so much esteemed MAN.
As at first he was so made, that he needed not, except he would himself,
have divided himself from the whole; so once divided and cut off,
IT hath so provided and ordered it, that if he would
himself, he might return, and grow together again, and be admitted into
its former rank and place of a part, as he was before.

XXXIII. As almost all her other faculties and properties the nature of
the universe hath imparted unto every reasonable creature, so this in
particular we have received from her, that as whatsoever doth oppose
itself unto her, and doth withstand her in her purposes and intentions,
she doth, though against its will and intention, bring it about to
herself, to serve herself of it in the execution of her own destinated
ends; and so by this though not intended co-operation of it with herself
makes it part of herself whether it will or no. So may every reasonable
creature, what crosses and impediments soever it meets with in the course
of this mortal life, it may use them as fit and proper objects, to the
furtherance of whatsoever it intended and absolutely proposed unto itself
as its natural end and happiness.

XXXIV. Let not the general representation unto thyself of the
wretchedness of this our mortal life, trouble thee. Let not thy mind
wander up and down, and heap together in her thoughts the many troubles
and grievous calamities which thou art as subject unto as any other. But
as everything in particular doth happen, put this question unto thyself,
and say: What is it that in this present matter, seems unto thee so
intolerable? For thou wilt be ashamed to confess it. Then upon this
presently call to mind, that neither that which is future, nor that which
is past can hurt thee; but that only which is present. (And that also is
much lessened, if thou dost lightly circumscribe it:) and then check thy
mind if for so little a while, (a mere instant), it cannot hold out with
patience.

XXXV. What? are either Panthea or Pergamus abiding to this day by their
masters’ tombs? or either Chabrias or Diotimus by that of Adrianus? O
foolery! For what if they did, would their masters be sensible of It? or
if sensible, would they be glad of it? or if glad, were these immortal?
Was not it appointed unto them also (both men and women,) to become old in
time, and then to die? And these once dead, what would become of these
former? And when all is done, what is all this for, but for a mere bag of
blood and corruption?

XXXVI. If thou beest quick-sighted, be so in matter of judgment, and
best discretion, saith he.

XXXVII. In the whole constitution of man, I see not any virtue contrary
to justice, whereby it may be resisted and opposed. But one whereby
pleasure and voluptuousness may be resisted and opposed, I see:
continence.

XXXVIII. If thou canst but withdraw conceit and opinion concerning that
which may seem hurtful and offensive, thou thyself art as safe, as safe
may be. Thou thyself? and who is that? Thy reason. ‘Yea, but I am not
reason.’ Well, be it so. However, let not thy reason or understanding
admit of grief, and if there be anything in thee that is grieved, let
that, (whatsoever it be,) conceive its own grief, if it can.

XXXIX. That which is a hindrance of the senses, is an evil to the
sensitive nature. That which is a hindrance of the appetitive and
prosecutive faculty, is an evil to the sensitive nature. As of the
sensitive, so of the vegetative constitution, whatsoever is a hindrance
unto it, is also in that respect an evil unto the same. And so likewise,
whatsoever is a hindrance unto the mind and understanding, must needs be
the proper evil of the reasonable nature. Now apply all those things unto
thyself. Do either pain or pleasure seize on thee? Let the senses look to
that. Hast thou met with Some obstacle or other in thy purpose and
intention? If thou didst propose without due reservation and exception now
hath thy reasonable part received a blow indeed But if in general thou
didst propose unto thyself what soever might be, thou art not thereby
either hurt, nor properly hindered. For in those things that properly
belong unto the mind, she cannot be hindered by any man. It is not fire,
nor iron; nor the power of a tyrant nor the power of a slandering tongue;
nor anything else that can penetrate into her.

XL. If once round and solid, there is no fear that ever it will change.

XLI. Why should I grieve myself; who never did willingly grieve any
other! One thing rejoices one and another thing another. As for me, this
is my joy, if my understanding be right and sound, as neither averse from
any man, nor refusing any of those things which as a man I am subject
unto; if I can look upon all things in the world meekly and kindly; accept
all things and carry myself towards everything according to to true worth
of the thing itself.

XLII. This time that is now present, bestow thou upon thyself. They that
rather hunt for fame after death, do not consider, that those men that
shall be hereafter, will be even such, as these whom now they can so
hardly bear with. And besides they also will be mortal men. But to
consider the thing in itself, if so many with so many voices, shall make
such and such a sound, or shall have such and such an opinion concerning
thee, what is it to thee?

XLIII. Take me and throw me where thou wilt: I am indifferent. For there
also I shall have that spirit which is within me propitious; that is well
pleased and fully contented both in that constant disposition, and with
those particular actions, which to its own proper constitution are
suitable and agreeable.

XLIV. Is this then a thing of that worth, that for it my soul should
suffer, and become worse than it was? as either basely dejected, or
disordinately affected, or confounded within itself, or terrified? What
can there be, that thou shouldest so much esteem?

XLV. Nothing can happen unto thee, which is not incidental unto thee, as
thou art a man. As nothing can happen either to an ox, a vine, or to a
stone, which is not incidental unto them; unto every one in his own kind.
If therefore nothing can happen unto anything, which is not both usual and
natural; why art thou displeased? Sure the common nature of all would not
bring anything upon any, that were intolerable. If therefore it be a thing
external that causes thy grief, know, that it is not that properly that
doth cause it, but thine own conceit and opinion concerning the thing:
which thou mayest rid thyself of, when thou wilt. But if it be somewhat
that is amiss in thine own disposition, that doth grieve thee, mayest thou
not rectify thy moral tenets and opinions. But if it grieve thee, that
thou doest not perform that which seemeth unto thee right and just, why
doest not thou choose rather to perform it than to grieve? But somewhat
that is stronger than thyself doth hinder thee. Let it not grieve thee
then, if it be not thy fault that the thing is not performed. ‘Yea but it
is a thing of that nature, as that thy life is not worth the while, except
it may be performed.’ If it be so, upon condition that thou be kindly and
lovingly disposed towards all men, thou mayest be gone. For even then, as
much as at any time, art thou in a very good estate of performance, when
thou doest die in charity with those, that are an obstacle unto thy
performance.

XLVI. Remember that thy mind is of that nature as that it becometh
altogether unconquerable, when once recollected in herself, she seeks no
other content than this, that she cannot be forced: yea though it so fall
out, that it be even against reason itself, that it cloth bandy. How much
less when by the help of reason she is able to judge of things with
discretion? And therefore let thy chief fort and place of defence be, a
mind free from passions. A stronger place, (whereunto to make his refuge,
and so to become impregnable) and better fortified than this, hath no man.
He that seeth not this is unlearned. He that seeth it, and betaketh not
himself to this place of refuge, is unhappy.

XLVII. Keep thyself to the first bare and naked apprehensions of things,
as they present themselves unto thee, and add not unto them. It is
reported unto thee, that such a one speaketh ill of thee. Well; that he
speaketh ill of thee, so much is reported. But that thou art hurt thereby,
is not reported: that is the addition of opinion, which thou must exclude.
I see that my child is sick. That he is sick, I see, but that he is in
danger of his life also, I see it not. Thus thou must use to keep thyself
to the first motions and apprehensions of things, as they present
themselves outwardly; and add not unto them from within thyself through
mere conceit and opinion. Or rather add unto them: hut as one that
understandeth the true nature of all things that happen in the world.

XLVIII. Is the cucumber bitter? set it away. Brambles are in the way?
avoid them. Let this suffice. Add not presently speaking unto thyself,
What serve these things for in the world? For, this, one that is
acquainted with the mysteries of nature, will laugh at thee for it; as a
carpenter would or a shoemaker, if meeting in either of their shops with
some shavings, or small remnants of their work, thou shouldest blame them
for it. And yet those men, it is not for want of a place where to throw
them that they keep them in their shops for a while: but the nature of the
universe hath no such out-place; but herein doth consist the wonder of her
art and skill, that she having once circumscribed herself within some
certain bounds and limits, whatsoever is within her that seems either
corrupted, or old, or unprofitable, she can change it into herself, and of
these very things can make new things; so that she needeth not to seek
elsewhere out of herself either for a new supply of matter and substance,
or for a place where to throw out whatsoever is irrecoverably putrid and
corrupt. Thus she, as for place, so for matter and art, is herself
sufficient unto herself.

XLIX. Not to be slack and negligent; or loose, and wanton in thy
actions; nor contentious, and troublesome in thy conversation; nor to rove
and wander in thy fancies and imaginations. Not basely to contract thy
soul; nor boisterously to sally out with it, or furiously to launch out as
it were, nor ever to want employment.

L. ‘They kill me, they cut my flesh; they persecute my person with
curses.’ What then? May not thy mind for all this continue pure, prudent,
temperate, just? As a fountain of sweet and clear water, though she be
cursed by some stander by, yet do her springs nevertheless still run as
sweet and clear as before; yea though either dirt or dung be thrown in,
yet is it no sooner thrown, than dispersed, and she cleared. She cannot be
dyed or infected by it. What then must I do, that I may have within myself
an overflowing fountain, and not a well? Beget thyself by continual pains
and endeavours to true liberty with charity, and true simplicity and
modesty.

LI. He that knoweth not what the world is, knoweth not where he himself
is. And he that knoweth not what the world was made for, cannot possibly
know either what are the qualities, or what is the nature of the world.
Now he that in either of these is to seek, for what he himself was made is
ignorant also. What then dost thou think of that man, who proposeth unto
himself, as a matter of great moment, the noise and applause of men, who
both where they are, and what they are themselves, are altogether
ignorant? Dost thou desire to be commended of that man, who thrice in one
hour perchance, doth himself curse himself? Dost thou desire to please
him, who pleaseth not himself? or dost thou think that he pleaseth
himself, who doth use to repent himself almost of everything that he doth?

LII. Not only now henceforth to have a common breath, or to hold
correspondency of breath, with that air, that compasseth us about; but to
have a common mind, or to hold correspondency of mind also with that
rational substance, which compasseth all things. For, that also is of
itself, and of its own nature (if a man can but draw it in as he should)
everywhere diffused; and passeth through all things, no less than the air
doth, if a man can but suck it in.

LIII. Wickedness in general doth not hurt the world. Particular
wickedness doth not hurt any other: only unto him it is hurtful, whosoever
he be that offends, unto whom in great favour and mercy it is granted,
that whensoever he himself shall but first desire it, he may be presently
delivered of it. Unto my free-will my neighbour’s free-will, whoever he
be, (as his life, or his bode), is altogether indifferent. For though we
are all made one for another, yet have our minds and understandings each
of them their own proper and limited jurisdiction. For else another man’s
wickedness might be my evil which God would not have, that it might not be
in another man’s power to make me unhappy: which nothing now can do but
mine own wickedness.

LIV. The sun seemeth to be shed abroad. And indeed it is diffused but not
effused. For that diffusion of it is a τάσις or
an extension. For therefore are the beams of it called
ἀκτῖνες from the word
ἐκτείνεσθαι to
be stretched out and extended. Now what a sunbeam is, thou mayest know if
thou observe the light of the sun, when through some narrow hole it
pierceth into some room that is dark. For it is always in a direct line.
And as by any solid body, that it meets with in the way that is not
penetrable by air, it is divided and abrupted, and yet neither slides
off, or falls down, but stayeth there nevertheless: such must the
diffusion in the mind be; not an effusion, but an extension. What
obstacles and impediments soever she meeteth within her way, she must not
violently, and by way of an impetuous onset light upon them; neither must
she fall down; but she must stand, and give light unto that which doth
admit of it. For as for that which doth not, it is its own fault and
loss, if it bereave itself of her light.

LV. He that feareth death, either feareth that he shall have no sense at
all, or that his senses will not be the same. Whereas, he should rather
comfort himself, that either no sense at all, and so no sense of evil; or
if any sense, then another life, and so no death properly.

LVI. All men are made one for another: either then teach them better, or
bear with them.

LVII. The motion of the mind is not as the motion of a dart. For
the mind when it is wary and cautelous, and by way of diligent
circumspection turneth herself many ways, may then as well be said to go
straight on to the object, as when it useth no such circumspection.

LVIII. To pierce and penetrate into the estate of every one’s
understanding that thou hast to do with: as also to make the estate of
thine own open, and penetrable to any other.