For my reference:
“‘Let’s be kinder to one another,’ Seneca exhorts, in the impassioned final segment of his treatise. ‘We’re just wicked people living among wicked people. Only one thing can give us peace, and that's a pact of mutual leniency.’”
“You urged me, Novatus, to write about the way in which anger can be softened, and I think you are right to be most frightened of this emotion, the ugliest and most savage of all emotions.”
“Other things can be hidden away and nurtured in secret, but anger announces itself and comes out onto the face; the greater its degree, the more openly it seethes. Don’t you see how all animals, as soon as they have reared up to inflict harm, send for signals of the attack? How their entire bodies abandon their accustomed calm appearance and whet the edge of their wildness?” (9).
“First, however, it’s easier to shut out harmful things than to govern them, easier to deny them entry than to moderate them once they have entered. Once they’ve established residence, they become more powerful than their overseer and do not accept retrenchment or abatement. That is why Reason itself, to which the reins are entrusted, stays potent only so long as it’s kept apart from the passions; if it mingles and pollutes itself with them, it can no longer restrain that which it formerly could have rebuffed” (17).
“Why are you afraid that duty alone, without anger’s help, will be too little motivation for him?” (21)
“Everyone who’s transported beyond mortal thinking by an insane mind believes he’s breathing in something elevated and sublime. But there’s nothing firm underneath; things that grow without foundations are likely to slide into ruin” (25 - 27).
“No, rather, from those who don’t know what true greatness is, just like that dread and hateful expression ‘Let them hate, so long as they fear.’” ...Do you think that was spoken by a great spirit? You’re wrong; that was not greatness but monstrosity” (27).
“There is no reason to trust the words of angry people, which make loud and menacing noise despite the great timidity of the mind that lies beneath” (27).
“Sure, terrible and turbulent and lethal things can exist, but they won’t have greatness, the foundation of which is strength and goodness. They will give the illusion of greatness with their speech, their effort and all their external show; they will shout out something that you might think belongs to a great mind — like Caligula: angered at the sky because its clamor interrupted the pantomimes, and because his revels were terrorized by thunderbolts” (29 - 31).
“There’s nothing great or noble in anger, not even when it seems brash and scornful of men and gods. Or, if it seems that anger does bring forth greatness of mind in anyone, then so would extravagance, for it likes to be held up by ivory, dressed in purples, and covered in gold; to move lands from place to place, dam up oceans, turn rivers into waterfalls, build forests in the air. Then, greed too would seem to come from a great mind, for it lies down on heaps of gold and silver, tends fields that are called “provinces,” holds estates under single managers that stretch out farther than what consuls get assigned. Lust would seem to come from a great mind, since it swims across straits, castrates whole crowds of boys, goes under a husband’s sword with no regard for death….All these things, no matter how far they go, how far they extend themselves, are really small, base, and lowly. Virtue alone is elevated and lofty. Nothing is great unless it’s also at peace” (31 - 33).
“Prosperity nurtures the angry temperament, when a crowd of yes-man whispers in arrogant ears, 'Can he talk that way to you? You’re not taking the measure of your full stature; you sell yourself short,' and other things that even healthy minds, build on strong foundations from the start, have scarcely resisted” (43).
“Let it not obtain anything by getting angry; what’s refused to the whiner should be freely given to the child who keeps silent. Let him keep his parents’ wealth in view but not in use. Let him be upbraided for any falsehoods. It will be important too that he be given teachers and attendants who are calm, since everything gentle attaches itself to what lies adjacent and grows to resemble those things” (43 - 45).
"So: since we ought to fight against first causes, the cause of anger is the sense of having been wronged; but one ought not to trust this sense. Don’t make your move right away, even against what seems overt and plain; sometimes false things give the appearance of truth. One must take one’s time; a day reveals the truth. And don’t give accusers ready access to your ears, but take note of this flaw in human nature and always suspect it: what we hate to hear, we readily believe, and we grow angry before we use our judgement. Think then: what if we are driven to act, not by accusations, but by mere suspicions, and grow angry at the guiltless because we read the worst into someone’s facial expression or laughter? No, we must plead the case of the absent defendant despite our own interests, and we must hold back anger pending judgement. A punishment that’s delayed can still be imposed, but once imposed, it can’t be withdrawn” (47 - 49).
“‘This man greeted me with too little courtesy; that one cut me off when I had just started talking; that one seemed to turn his face from me more than usual.’ There will be no lack of rationale to back up this suspicion. Let’s trust only that which we can see, plainly, with our eyes; and whenever our suspicion turns out to be hollow, let’s punish our credibility, for that castigation will instill a habit of not trusting easily” (51).
“If we want to be fair judges of all matters, let’s convince ourselves first of all of this: none of us is without guilt. The greatest outrage arises from this attitude: 'I’ve committed no wrong' and 'I didn’t do anything.' No, it’s only that you don’t admit to anything. We take umbrage at receiving any admonition or punishment, even though we are doing wrong at that very moment, by adding arrogance and presumption to our misdeeds” (59).
“We hold the flaws of others before our eyes but turn our backs toward our own. Thus a father who’s worse than his son condemns his son’s dinner parties, though they’re not excessive; the man who denies nothing to his own extravagance forgives nothing in another’s; the tyrant grows angry at the murderer; the temple robber punishes theft. The majority of humankind gets angry not at the wrongs but at the wrongdoers” (65).
“Do you condemn a friend on the spur of the moment? Will you get angry before you hear him out, before you question him, before he’s allowed to know his accuser or his crime? Have you already heard [what] both sides have to say?” (69)
“Those whose minds have grown scornful due to their great fortunes have this as their worst failing: those whom they’ve hurt, they also hate” (85).
“We must, then, hold back our anger, whether the one who needs to be taken on is our equal, our better, or our inferior. To fight with an equal is a chancy affair with a better, insane; with an inferior, tawdry. It is the act of a cowardly and base person to seek redress from the one who bites him” (91).
“Mice and ants turn to face you if you raise your hand to them; only weak things think they’re being wounded if they’re touched” (91).
“If the mind could be revealed and could shine out in some concrete form, it would astonish those who saw it—black, spotted, roiling, twisted, swollen. As things are, its ugliness is so extreme, as it seeps through bones and flesh and so many things in its path; what would it look like if laid bare?” (103)
“So won’t everyone want to call themselves back from anger’s borders, once they understand that its first onset is to their detriment? Don’t you want me to advise those people who wield anger from the height of power, who think it a testament to their strength, who reckon a ready revenge to be one of the great benefits of great wealth, that he who is a prisoner of anger cannot be called powerful, or even free?” (119)
“The arrogant ones will offend you with their scorn, the acerbic with their insults, the impudent with their slights, the spiteful with their malice, the belligerent with their quarrels, the boastful and false with their vanity; you’ll find unbearable that you’re feared by the mistrustful, bested by the unrelenting, sniffed at by the fussy. Choose the company of the straightforward, the easygoing, the mild, who neither provoke your anger nor put up with it. Even more to our benefit are those who are humble, humane, and sweet” (139).
“It is not to your benefit to see and hear everything. Many injuries ought to pass over us; if you ignore them, you get no more injury from them. You want to be less angry? Ask fewer questions. Those who investigate what was said against them, who flush out mean-spirited talk even if it was being kept secret, are themselves the source of their own turmoil. It's only interpretation that causes things to look like injuries—in fact, some of them ought to be put off until later; others, laughed off; still others, forgiven” (151).
“Let [anger] stay buried in the deepest recess of the heart; let it be borne, not bear us with it. Rather, let’s change all its manifestations to their opposite: relax the face, soften the voice, slow the step; bit by bit, inner feelings will conform to outer signs” (155).
“But you reply, ‘I can’t let it pass; it’s hard to endure a wrong.’ That’s a lie. For who is unable to bear a wrong, if they can bear feeling angry? Consider in addition that what you’re doing makes you endure both anger and injury. Why do you put up with the ravings of a sick man, the abuse of a lunatic, or the bold hands of young children? No doubt because they don’t seem to know what they’re doing. What does it matter what shortcoming makes each one reckless? Recklessness serves all men equally as a plea. ‘What then?’ you ask. ‘Will he get off scot-free?’ Pretend that’s what you want. Nevertheless, it won’t happen; the greatest punishment of a wrong that’s been committed is having committed it. No one suffers a weightier consequence than those who are handed over to the torture of regret” (179).
“All of us are imprudent and thoughtless, all are unstable, contentious, ambitious, and—why hide with gentler words a sore that’s clearly seen?—we’re all of us evil. So whatever each of us finds to reproach in another, he’ll find also in his own breast. [...] Let’s be kinder to one another” (179).
“Your rage at this man drives you one way at that man, another; your fury will go on and on, fed by newly arising grievances. So then, unhappy fellow, will you ever love? Oh, the good time you waste in an evil business! How much better to build friendships and lessen enmities, tend to the common good, shift your effort into your household affairs, rather than looking around to see what harm you can do to someone, what wound you can inflict on his reputation or his estate or his body—even though this must involve you in struggle and danger, even if it’s a lesser man you contend with!” (181)
“[Our senses] are by nature resilient, if the mind—which needs to be called to account every day—ceases to undermine them. Sextius used to do this, when, at the day’s end, as he prepared himself for nighttime rest, he would ask his own mind: ‘Which of your offenses have you cured today? Which fault have you blocked? In what area are you better?’ Anger will abate and become more temperate if it knows that it must come before a judge every day. What could be finer than this method of shaking off all that the day has brought? What a sleep follows after this inspection of oneself; how peaceful, deep, and free of care—after the mind has been either praised or scolded, and the observer and hidden justice of the self has searched one’s character!” (189).
“I become an inspector and reexamine the course of my day, my deeds and words; I hide nothing from myself, I omit nothing” (191).
“Next time consider not the truth of what you say but whether the one you say it to can endure hearing the truth; good folk are glad to be chastised, but the worst sort find their preceptor very grating” (191).
“Is anyone surprised at getting a chill in winter? Or getting seasick while on the sea? Or that they get bumped walking a city street? The mind is strong against things it has prepared for” (195).
“You’ve been seated in a less honored place at table, so you start to get angry at your fellow guest, at your host, at the one wo was seated in a more favored spot. Mad-man! What does it matter what part of the dining-couch you park yourself on? Can a cushion make you either nobler or baser?” (195).
“Let’s each say to each other and to ourselves: ‘What joy is there in proclaiming our grievances and wasting our brief lifespan, as though we were born to live forever? What joy in taking the days that could be devoted to honorable pleasures and devoting them instead to someone’s pain and torture? Such days aren’t disposable; we don’t have spare time to squander. Why do we rush into a fight? Why bring quarrels on ourselves? Why take up huge hatreds, forgetful of our own weakness, and though breakable ourselves, be roused to break others? Soon a fever, or some other bodily ill, will put a stop to the enmities that we maintain with a resolute mind; soon death will intervene to halt the most bitter contest. Why do we get into an uproar and, like mutineers, throw our lives into disorder? Fate stands over our heads and counts up our waning days, coming nearer and nearer. That space of time you allot to cause another’s death is perhaps about right for your own. Why not rather hoard this brief space of life and make it peaceful for yourself and for others? Why not merit the love of all while you live and their fond regret after you’re gone? [...] Why do you get angry at a slave, a master, a king, a dependent? Hold back a bit; look, here’s death, arriving to make you equal with them” (201).
“What do we see in struggles and treachery? Surely there’s nothing more than death you can wish on the person you’re angry with—and he will die, even if you do nothing. You’re wasting effort if you want to bring about that which is going to happen anyway….But whether you contemplate the ultimate punishment, or something more lenient, how little time remains, either for him to be tortured by paying the penalty, or for you to take your wicked joy in imposing it. Soon we’ll spit out our life’s breath. For the moment, while we still draw it, while we’re in the human world, let’s cherish our humanity. Let’s not be a source of fear or danger to anyone. Let’s cast scorn on injuries, harms, insults, and taunts; let’s put up with brief annoyances. As they say, the moment we turn to look behind us, death stands right there” (205).