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544 pages, hardback
First published January 1, 1928
Shift your curiosity from things without and turn it inwards. —On Being a Busybody, 515d
It is also highly conducive to tranquility of mind to examine, if possible, one’s fortunes, but if that is not possible, to observe persons of inferior fortune, and not, as most people do, compare oneself with those who are superior; as, for example, those in prison account fortunate those who have been set free; and they, men born free; and free men, citizens; and citizens, in their turn, the rich; and the rich, satraps; and satraps, kings; and kings, the gods, scarcely stopping short of desiring the power to produce thunder and lightning. Thus, through being always conscious that they lack things which are beyond them, they are never grateful . . . what is this other than collecting excuses for ingratitude to Fortune in order to chastise and punish oneself. But he, at least, who has a mind filled with salutary thoughts, knowing that the sun looks down upon countless myriads of men, if he be less famous or less wealthy than some others, does not sit down in sorrow and dejection, but since he knows that he lives ten thousand times better and more suitably than tens of thousands in so great a number, he will go on his way praising his own guardian spirit and his life. —On Tranquility of Mind, 470a
What difficulty is there about refraining from reading the inscriptions on tombs as we journey along the roads? Or what is there arduous in just glancing at the writing on walls when we take our walks? We have only to remind ourselves that nothing useful or pleasant has been written there: merely so-and-so “commemorates” so-and-so “wishing him well,” and someone else is the “best of friends,” and much twaddle of this sort. It may seem that no harm will come from reading these, but harm you it does by imperceptibly instilling the practice of searching out matters which do not concern you . . . this practice of throwing sidelong and furtive glances , distorting the soul as it does, is shameful, and the habit it implants is depraved.—On Being a Busybody, 520d, 521b
It’s like you’re on a train. And instead of looking out of the window enjoying the view and seeing what’s going on in the world around you, you’re just sitting there reading a book.(Paraphrased)