Verus, leaving Lucilla behind, then Lucilla. Maximus,
leaving Secunda. And Secunda. Diotimus, leaving
Epitynchanus. Then Epitynchanus. Faustina, leaving
Antoninus. Then Antoninus.
So with all of them.
Hadrian, leaving Celer. And Celer.
Where have they gone, the brilliant, the insightful ones, the
proud? Brilliant as Charax and Demetrius the Platonist and
Eudaemon and the rest of them. Short-lived creatures, long
dead. Some of them not remembered at all, some become
legends, some lost even to legend.
So remember: your components will be scattered too, the
life within you quenched. Or marching orders and another
posting.
--Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
And the book ends like this:
You’ve lived as a citizen in a great city. Five years or a
hundred—what’s the difference? The laws make no
distinction.
And to be sent away from it, not by a tyrant or a dishonest
judge, but by Nature, who first invited you in—why is that so
terrible?
Like the impresario ringing down the curtain on an actor:
“But I’ve only gotten through three acts . . . !”
Yes. This will be a drama in three acts, the length fixed by
the power that directed your creation, and now directs your
dissolution. Neither was yours to determine.
So make your exit with grace—the same grace shown to
you.