Nothing Befalls A Man Except What Is

Rememberest The Gods, And That They Wish Not To Be Flattered, But Wish All Reasonable Beings To Be Made Like Themselves; And... Rememberest That What Does The Work Of A Fig-tree Is A Fig-tree, And That What Does The Work Of A Dog Is A Dog, And That What Does The Work Of A Bee Is A Bee, And That What Does The Work Of A Man Is A Man.

Things Can Never Touch The Soul, But Stand Inert Outside It, So That Disquiet Can Arise Only From Fancies Within.

The Universal Nature Has No External Space; But The Wondrous Part Of Her Art Is That Though She Has Circumscribed Herself, Everything Which Is Within Her Which Appears To Decay And To Grow Old And To Be Useless She Changes Into Herself, And Again Makes Other New Things From These Very Same, So That She Requires Neither Substance From Without Nor Wants A Place Into Which She May Cast That Which Decays. She Is Content Then With Her Own Space, And Her Own Matter, And Her Own Art.

And Can Anything Else That Is Useful Be Accomplished Without Change? Do You Not See Then That For Yourself Also To Change Is Just The Same, And Equally Necessary For The Universal Nature?

‎"begin The Morning By Saying To Thyself, I Shall Meet With The Busy-body, The Ungrateful, Arrogant, Deceitful, Envious, Unsocial