In the first place, in the things which relate to yourself, you must not be in any respect like what you do now; you must not blame God or man; you must take away desire altogether, you must transfer avoidance ([Greek:  echchlisis]) only to the things which are within the power of the will; you must not feel anger nor resentment or envy nor pity; a girl must not appear handsome to you, nor must you love a little reputation, nor be pleased with a boy or a cake.  For you ought to know that the rest of men throw walls around them and houses and darkness when they do any such things, and they have many means of concealment.  A man shuts the door, he sets somebody before the chamber; if a person comes, say that he is out, he is not at leisure.  But the Cynic instead of all these things must use modesty as his protection; if he does not, he will be indecent in his nakedness and under the open sky.  This is his house, his door; this is the slave before his bedchamber; this is his darkness.  For he ought not to wish to hide anything that he does; and if he does, he is gone, he has lost the character of a Cynic, of a man who lives under the open sky, of a free man; he has begun to fear some external thing, he has begun to have need of concealment, nor can he get concealment when he chooses.  For where shall he hide himself and how?  And if by chance this public instructor shall be detected, this paedagogue, what kind of things will he be compelled to suffer? when then a man fears these things, is it possible for him to be bold with his whole soul to superintend men?  It cannot be:  it is impossible.

In the first place then you must make your ruling faculty pure, and this mode of life also.  Now (you should say), to me the matter to work on is my understanding, as wood is to the carpenter, as hides to the shoemaker; and my business is the right use of appearances.  But the body is nothing to me:  the parts of it are nothing to me.  Death?  Let it come when it chooses, either death of the whole or of a part.  Fly, you say.  And whither; can any man eject me out of the world?  He cannot.  But wherever I go, there is the sun, there is the moon, there are the stars, dreams, omens, and the conversation ([Greek:  omilia]) with gods.

Then, if he is thus prepared, the true Cynic cannot be satisfied with this; but he must know that he is sent a messenger from Zeus to men about good and bad things, to show them that they have wandered and are seeking the substance of good and evil where it is not, but where it is, they never think; and that he is a spy, as Diogenes was carried off to Philip after the battle of Chaeroneia as a spy.  For in fact a Cynic is a spy of the things which are good for men and which are evil, and it is his duty to examine carefully and to come and report truly, and not to be struck with terror so as to point out as enemies those who are not enemies, nor in any other way to be perturbed by appearances nor confounded.