A Healer Of Others, Himself Diseased.

Once When Phocion Had Delivered An Opinion Which Pleased The People, He Turned To His Friend And Said, "have I Not Unawares Spoken Some Mischievous Thing Or Other?"

Pompey Bade Sylla Recollect That More Worshipped The Rising Than The Setting Sun.

Not By Lamentations And Mournful Chants Ought We To Celebrate The Funeral Of A Good Man, But By Hymns; For, Ion Ceasing To Be Numbered With Mortals, He Enters Upon The Heritage Of A Diviner Life. Since He Is Gone Where He Feels No Pain, Let Us Not Indulge In Too Much Grief. The Soul Is Incapable Of Death. And He, Like A Bird Not Long Enough In His Cage To Become Attached To It, Is Free To Fly Away To A Purer Air. . . . Since We Cherish A Trust Like This, Let Our Outward Actions Be In Accord With It, And Let Us Keep Our Hearts Pure And Our Minds Calm.

Friendship Is The Most Pleasant Of All Things, And Nothing More Glads The Heart Of Man.

When Anaxagoras Was Told Of The Death Of His Son, He Only Said, "i Knew He Was Mortal." So We In All Casualties Of Life Should Say "i Knew My Riches Were Uncertain, That My Friend Was But A Man." Such Considerations Would Soon Pacify Us, Because All Our Troubles Proceed From Their Being Unexpected.