myself to bear patiently all manner of fatigues,
cannot now more easily submit to this than you, who have never thought of
the matter? If I have no keen desire after dainties, if I sleep little,
if I abandon not myself to any infamous amour, the reason is because I
spend my time more delightfully in things whose pleasure ends not in the
moment of enjoyment, and that make me hope besides to receive an
everlasting reward. Besides, you know very well, that when a man sees
that his affairs go ill he is not generally very gay; and that, on the
contrary, they who think to succeed in their designs, whether in
agriculture, traffic, or any other undertaking, are very contented in
their minds. Now, do you think that from anything whatsoever there can
proceed a satisfaction equal to the inward consciousness of improving
daily in virtue, and acquiring the acquaintance and friendship of the
best of men? And if we were to serve our friends or our country, would
not a man who lives like me be more capable of it than one that should
follow that course of life which you take to be so charming? If it were
necessary to carry arms, which of the two would be the best soldier, he
who must always fare deliciously, or he who is satisfied with what he
finds? If they were to undergo a siege who would hold out longest, he
who cannot live without delicacies, or he who requires nothing but what
may easily be had? One would think, Antiphon, that you believe happiness
to consist in good eating and drinking, and in an expensive and splendid
way of life. For my part, I am of opinion that to have need of nothing
at all is a divine perfection, and that to have need but of little is to
approach very near the Deity, and hence it follows that, as there is
nothing more excellent than the Deity, whatever approaches nearest to it
is likewise most near the supreme excellence."

Another time Antiphon addressed himself to Socrates: "I confess you are
an honest, well-meaning man, Socrates; but it is certain you know little
or nothing, and one would imagine you own this to be true, for you get
nothing by your teaching. And yet, I persuade myself, you would not part
with your house, or any of the furniture of it, without some gratuity,
because you believe them of some small value; nay, you would not part
with them for less than they are worth: if, therefore, you thought your
teaching worth anything you would be paid for it according to its value;
in this, i