'Tis cowardice, not virtue, to lie squat in a furrow, under a tomb, to evade the blows of fortune; virtue never stops nor goes out of her path, for the greatest storm that blows:
"Si fractus illabatur orbis,
Impavidum ferient ruinae."
["Should the world's axis crack, the ruins will but crush
a fearless head."—Horace, Od., iii. 3, 7.]
For the most part, the flying from other inconveniences brings us to this; nay, endeavouring to evade death, we often run into its very mouth:
"Hic, rogo, non furor est, ne moriare, mori?"
["Tell me, is it not madness, that one should die for fear
of dying?"—Martial, ii. 80, 2.]
like those who, from fear of a precipice, throw themselves headlong into it;
"Multos in summa pericula misfit
Venturi timor ipse mali: fortissimus ille est,
Qui promptus metuenda pati, si cominus instent,
Et differre potest."
["The fear of future ills often makes men run into extreme danger;
he is truly brave who boldly dares withstand the mischiefs he
apprehends, when they confront him and can be deferred."
—Lucan, vii. 104.]
"Usque adeo, mortis formidine, vitae
Percipit humanos odium, lucisque videndae,
Ut sibi consciscant moerenti pectore lethum
Obliti fontem curarum hunc esse timorem."