If the original being of those things we fear had power to lodge itself in us by its own authority, it would then lodge itself alike, and in like manner, in all; for men are all of the same kind, and saving in greater and less proportions, are all provided with the same utensils and instruments to conceive and to judge; but the diversity of opinions we have of those things clearly evidences that they only enter us by composition; one person, peradventure, admits them in their true being, but a thousand others give them a new and contrary being in them.  We hold death, poverty, and pain for our principal enemies; now, this death, which some repute the most dreadful of all dreadful things, who does not know that others call it the only secure harbour from the storms and tempests of life, the sovereign good of nature, the sole support of liberty, and the common and prompt remedy of all evils?  And as the one expect it with fear and trembling, the others support it with greater ease than life.  That one complains of its facility: 

          “Mors! utinam pavidos vitae subducere nolles. 
          Sed virtus to sola daret!”

     ["O death! wouldst that thou might spare the coward, but that
     valour alone should pay thee tribute.”—­Lucan, iv. 580.]

Now, let us leave these boastful courages.  Theodorus answered Lysimachus, who threatened to kill him, “Thou wilt do a brave feat,” said he, “to attain the force of a cantharides.”  The majority of philosophers are observed to have either purposely anticipated, or hastened and assisted their own death.  How many ordinary people do we see led to execution, and that not to a simple death, but mixed with shame and sometimes with grievous torments, appear with such assurance, whether through firm courage or natural simplicity, that a man can discover no change from their ordinary condition; settling their domestic affairs, commending themselves to their friends, singing, preaching, and addressing the people, nay, sometimes sallying into jests, and drinking to their companions, quite as well as Socrates?

One that they were leading to the gallows told them they must not take him through such a street, lest a merchant who lived there should arrest him by the way for an old debt.  Another told the hangman he must not touch his neck for fear of making him laugh, he was so ticklish.  Another answered his confessor, who promised him he should that day sup with our Lord, “Do you go then,” said he, “in my room [place]; for I for my part keep fast to-day.”  Another having called for drink, and the hangman having drunk first, said he would not drink after him, for fear of catching some evil disease.  Everybody has heard the tale of the Picard, to whom, being upon the ladder, they presented a common wench, telling him (as our law does some times permit) that if he would marry her they would save his life; he, having a while considered her and perceiving that she halted:  “Come, tie