Custom Is Almost A Second Nature.

In Human Life There Is Constant Change Of Fortune; And It Is Unreasonable To Expect An Exemption From The Common Fate. Life Itself Decays, And All Things Are Daily Changing.

What Most Of All Enables A Man To Serve The Public Is Not Wealth, But Content And Independence; Which, Requiring No Superfluity At Home, Distracts Not The Mind From The Common Good.

Ought A Man To Be Confident That He Deserves His Good Fortune, And Think Much Of Himself When He Has Overcome A Nation, Or City, Or Empire; Or Does Fortune Give This As An Example To The Victor Also Of The Uncertainty Of Human Affairs, Which Never Continue In One Stay? For What Time Can There Be For Us Mortals To Feel Confident, When Our Victories Over Others Especially Compel Us To Dread Fortune, And While We Are Exulting, The Reflection That The Fatal Day Comes Now To One, Now To Another, In Regular Succession, Dashes Our Joy.

As Geographers, Sosius, Crowd Into The Edges Of Their Maps Parts Of The World Which They Do Not Know About, Adding Notes In The Margin To The Effect That Beyond This Lies Nothing But Sandy Deserts Full Of Wild Beasts, And Unapproachable Bogs.

The Man Who Is Completely Wise And Virtuous Has No Need Of Glory, Except So Far As It Disposes And Eases His Way To Action By The Greater Trust That It Procures Him.