Our masters are to blame, that in searching out the causes of the extraordinary emotions of the soul, besides attributing it to a divine ecstasy, love, martial fierceness, poesy, wine, they have not also attributed a part to health:  a boiling, vigorous, full, and lazy health, such as formerly the verdure of youth and security, by fits, supplied me withal; that fire of sprightliness and gaiety darts into the mind flashes that are lively and bright beyond our natural light, and of all enthusiasms the most jovial, if not the most extravagant.

It is, then, no wonder if a contrary state stupefy and clog my spirit, and produce a contrary effect: 

          “Ad nullum consurgit opus, cum corpore languet;”

     ["When the mind is languishing, the body is good for nothing.” 
     (Or:) “It rises to no effort; it languishes with the body.” 
     —­Pseudo Gallus, i. 125.]

and yet would have me obliged to it for giving, as it wants to make out, much less consent to this stupidity than is the ordinary case with men of my age.  Let us, at least, whilst we have truce, drive away incommodities and difficulties from our commerce: 

          “Dum licet, obducta solvatur fronte senectus:” 

     ["Whilst we can, let us banish old age from the brow.” 
     —­Herod., Ep., xiii. 7.]

“Tetrica sunt amcenanda jocularibus.”

     ["Sour things are to be sweetened with those that are pleasant.” 
     —­Sidonius Apollin., Ep., i. 9.]

I love a gay and civil wisdom, and fly from all sourness and austerity of manners, all repellent, mien being suspected by me: 

“Tristemque vultus tetrici arrogantiam:” 

          ["The arrogant sadness of a crabbed face.”—­Auctor Incert.]

“Et habet tristis quoque turba cinaedos.”

          ["And the dull crowd also has its voluptuaries.” (Or:)
          “An austere countenance sometimes covers a debauched mind.” 
          —­Idem.]

I am very much of Plato’s opinion, who says that facile or harsh humours are great indications of the good or ill disposition of the mind.  Socrates had a constant countenance, but serene and smiling, not sourly austere, like the elder Crassus, whom no one ever saw laugh.  Virtue is a pleasant and gay quality.

I know very well that few will quarrel with the licence of my writings, who have not more to quarrel with in the licence of their own thoughts:  I conform myself well enough to their inclinations, but I offend their eyes.  ’Tis a fine humour to strain the writings of Plato, to wrest his pretended intercourses with Phaedo, Dion, Stella, and Archeanassa: 

“Non pudeat dicere, quod non pudet sentire.”

     ["Let us not be ashamed to speak what we are not ashamed to think.”]

I hate a froward and dismal spirit, that slips over all the pleasures of life and seizes and feeds upon misfortunes; like flies, that cannot stick to a smooth and polished body, but fix and repose themselves upon craggy and rough places, and like cupping-glasses, that only suck and attract bad blood.