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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=450292" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Book III - Part 05 - Cerberus And Furies, And That Lack Of Light</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tartarus, out-belching from his mouth the surge <br>Of horrible heat- the which are nowhere, nor <br>Indeed can be: but in this life is fear <br>Of retributions just and expiations <br>For evil acts: the dungeon and the leap <br>From that dread rock of infamy, the stripes, <br>The executioners, the oaken rack, <br>The iron plates, bitumen, and the torch. <br>And even though these are absent, yet the mind, <br>With a fore-fearing conscience, plies its goads <br>And burns beneath the lash, nor sees meanwhile <br>What terminus of ills, what end of pine <br>Can ever be, and feareth lest the same <br>But grow more heavy after death. Of truth, <br>The life of fools is Acheron on earth. <br>This also to thy very self sometimes <br>Repeat thou mayst: &quot;Lo, even good Ancus left <br>The sunshine with his eyes, in divers things <br>A better man than thou, O worthless hind; <br>And many other kings and lords of rule <br>Thereafter have gone under, once who swayed <br>O'er mighty peoples. And he also, he- <br>Who whilom paved a highway down the sea, <br>And gave his legionaries thoroughfare <br>Along the deep, and taught them how to cross <br>The pools of brine afoot, and did contemn, <br>Trampling upon it with his cavalry, <br>The bellowings of ocean- poured his soul <br>From dying body, as his light was ta'en. <br>And Scipio's son, the thunderbolt of war, <br>Horror of Carthage, gave his bones to earth, <br>Like to the lowliest villein in the house. <br>Add finders-out of sciences and arts; <br>Add comrades of the Heliconian dames, <br>Among whom Homer, sceptered o'er them all <br>Now lies in slumber sunken with the rest. <br>Then, too, Democritus, when ripened eld <br>Admonished him his memory waned away, <br>Of own accord offered his head to death. <br>Even Epicurus went, his light of life <br>Run out, the man in genius who o'er-topped <br>The human race, extinguishing all others, <br>As sun, in ether arisen, all the stars. <br>Wilt thou, then, dally, thou complain to go?- <br>For whom already life's as good as dead, <br>Whilst yet thou livest and lookest?- who in sleep <br>Wastest thy life- time's major part, and snorest <br>Even when awake, and ceasest not to see <br>The stuff of dreams, and bearest a mind beset <br>By baseless terror, nor discoverest oft <br>What's wrong with thee, when, like a sotted wretch, <br>Thou'rt jostled along by many crowding cares, <br>And wanderest reeling round, with mind aswim.&quot; <br>If men, in that same way as on the mind <br>They feel the load that wearies with its weight, <br>Could also know the causes whence it comes, <br>And why so great the heap of ill on heart, <br>O not in this sort would they live their life, <br>As now so much we see them, knowing not <br>What 'tis they want, and seeking ever and ever <br>A change of place, as if to drop the burden. <br>The man who sickens of his home goes out, <br>Forth from his splendid halls, and straight- returns, <br>Feeling i'faith no better off abroad. <br>He races, driving his Gallic ponies along, <br>Down to his villa, madly,- as in haste <br>To hurry help to a house afire.- At once <br>He yawns, as soon as foot has touched the threshold, <br>Or drowsily goes off in sleep and seeks <br>Forgetfulness, or maybe bustles about <br>And makes for town again. In such a way <br>Each human flees himself- a self in sooth, <br>As happens, he by no means can escape; <br>And willy-nilly he cleaves to it and loathes, <br>Sick, sick, and guessing not the cause of ail. <br>Yet should he see but that, O chiefly then, <br>Leaving all else, he'd study to divine <br>The nature of things, since here is in debate <br>Eternal time and not the single hour, <br>Mortal's estate in whatsoever remains <br>After great death. <br>And too, when all is said, <br>What evil lust of life is this so great <br>Subdues us to live, so dreadfully distraught <br>In perils and alarms? one fixed end <br>Of life abideth for mortality; <br>Death's not to shun, and we must go to meet. <br>Besides we're busied with the same devices, <br>Ever and ever, and we are at them ever, <br>And there's no new delight that may be forged <br>By living on. But whilst the thing we long for <br>Is lacking, that seems good above all else; <br>Thereafter, when we've touched it, something else <br>We long for; ever one equal thirst of life <br>Grips us agape. And doubtful 'tis what fortune <br>The future times may carry, or what be <br>That chance may bring, or what the issue next <br>Awaiting us. Nor by prolonging life <br>Take we the least away from death's own time, <br>Nor can we pluck one moment off, whereby <br>To minish the aeons of our state of death. <br>Therefore, O man, by living on, fulfil <br>As many generations as thou may: <br>Eternal death shall there be waiting still; <br>And he who died with light of yesterday <br>Shall be no briefer time in death's No-more <br>Than he who perished months or years before.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lucretius">Lucretius</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=450292" data-title="Book III - Part 05 - Cerberus And Furies, And That Lack Of Light de Lucretius" data-description="Tartarus, out-belching from his mouth the surge 
Of horrible heat- the which are nowhere, nor 
Indeed can be: but in this life is fear 
Of retributions just and expiations 
For evil acts: the dungeon and the leap 
From that dread rock of infamy, t..."></div>
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