Man is not the master of man, but death and life and pleasure and pain. Bring me Cæsar without these things and you’ll see how calm I am. But when he comes with them, amid thunder and lightning, and I am afraid of them, what else do I do but acknowledge my master, like a runaway slave? So long as I have only a sort of truce with these things, I’m like a runaway slave standing in a theater; I bathe, I drink, I sing, I do everything in fear and suffering. But if I free myself from these slave-masters – that is, from those things by which these masters are fearsome – what more trouble do I have,
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