icken by the afflictions sent by
the Gods, to acknowledge themselves afflicted and humbled by them is
the readiest way of appeasing them. But most men appear to be unaware
what contradictions these things are full of. They commend those who
die calmly, but they blame those who can bear the loss of another with
the same calmness, as if it were possible that it should be true, as is
occasionally said in love speeches, that any one can love another more
than himself. There is, indeed, something excellent in this, and, if
you examine it, something no less just than true, that we love those
who ought to be most dear to us as well as we love ourselves; but to
love them more than ourselves is absolutely impossible; nor is it
desirable in friendship that I should love my friend more than myself,
or that he should love me so; for this would occasion much confusion in
life, and break in upon all the duties of it.

XXX. But we will speak of this another time: at present it is
sufficient not to attribute our misery to the loss of our friends, nor
to love them more than, if they themselves could be sensible of our
conduct, they would approve of, or at least not more than we do
ourselves. Now as to what they say, that some are not at all appeased
by our consolations; and, moreover, as to what they add, that the
comforters themselves acknowledge they are miserable when fortune
varies the attack and falls on them--in both these cases the solution
is easy: for the fault here is not in nature, but in our own folly; and
much may be said against folly. But men who do not admit of consolation
seem to bespeak misery for themselves; and they who cannot bear their
misfortunes with that temper which they recommend to others are not
more faulty in this particular than most other persons; for we see that
covetous men find fault with others who are covetous, as do the
vainglorious with those who appear too wholly devoted to the pursuit of
glory. For it is the peculiar characteristic of folly to perceive the
vices of others, but to forget its own. But since we find that grief is
removed by length of time, we have the greatest proof that the strength
of it depends not merely on time, but on the daily consideration of it.
For if the cause continues the same, and the man be the same, how can
there be any alteration in the grief, if there is no change in what
occasioned the grief, nor in him who grieves? Therefore it is from
daily reflecting that there