_M._ It is natural enough to think so, for we are not the offspring of
flints; but we have by nature something soft and tender in our souls,
which may be put into a violent motion by grief, as by a storm; nor did
that Crantor, who was one of the most distinguished men that our
Academy has ever produced, say this amiss: "I am by no means of their
opinion who talk so much in praise of I know not what insensibility,
which neither can exist, nor ought to exist. "I would choose," says he,
"never to be ill; but should I be so, still I should choose to retain
my sensation, whether there was to be an amputation or any other
separation of anything from my body. For that insensibility cannot be
but at the expense of some unnatural ferocity of mind, or stupor of
body." But let us consider whether to talk in this manner be not
allowing that we are weak, and yielding to our softness.
Notwithstanding, let us be hardy enough, not only to lop off every arm
of our miseries, but even to pluck up every fibre of their roots. Yet
still something, perhaps, may be left behind, so deep does folly strike
its roots: but whatever may be left it will be no more than is
necessary. But let us be persuaded of this, that unless the mind be in
a sound state, which philosophy alone can effect, there can be no end
of our miseries. Wherefore, as we began, let us submit ourselves to it
for a cure; we shall be cured if we choose to be. I shall advance
something further. I shall not treat of grief alone, though that indeed
is the principal thing; but, as I originally proposed, of every
perturbation of the mind, as I termed it; disorder, as the Greeks call
it: and first, with your leave, I shall treat it in the manner of the
Stoics, whose method is to reduce their arguments into a very small
space; afterward I shall enlarge more in my own way.

VII. A man of courage is also full of faith. I do not use the word