1Lately the illness of a certain friend reminded me that we are at our best while we are ill. 1For what sick man is troubled by avarice or lust? 2He is no slave to love affairs, he does not covet honours, he disregards wealth, and however little he has, he thinks it enough, as one who is about to leave it behind. 2It is then that he remembers there are gods, then that he is a man; he envies no one, admires no one, despises no one, and does not even pay attention to malicious gossip or feed on it: it is baths and springs he dreams of. 3This is the sum of his cares, the sum of his prayers, and he resolves on a life for the future, should he chance to escape, that is easy and comfortable, that is, harmless and happy.
4So I can briefly prescribe to you and to myself what philosophers try to teach with a great many words and even a great many volumes: that in health we should continue to be such as we promise to be when ill. 4Farewell.