Is glory thy aim?
Thou art lured on through all manner of hardships, and there is an end to thy peace of mind.

Art fain to lead a life of pleasure?
Yet who does not scorn and contemn one who is the slave of the weakest and vilest of things--the body?
Again, on how slight and perishable a possession do they rely who set before themselves bodily excellences! Can ye ever surpass the elephant in bulk or the bull in strength?
Can ye excel the tiger in swiftness?
Look upon the infinitude, the solidity, the swift motion, of the heavens, and for once cease to admire things mean and worthless.

And yet the heavens are not so much to be admired on this account as for the reason which guides them.

Then, how transient is the lustre of beauty! how soon gone!--more fleeting than the fading bloom of spring flowers.

And yet if, as Aristotle says, men should see with the eyes of Lynceus, so that their sight might pierce through obstructions, would not that body of Alcibiades, so gloriously fair in outward seeming, appear altogether loathsome when all its inward parts lay open to the view?
Therefore, it is not thy own nature that makes thee seem beautiful, but the weakness of the eyes that see thee.