One tenet he never wearied of repeating: the gods, he said, are not less pleased with holy deeds than with pure victims.
In the day of his prosperity his thoughts were not raised higher than befits a man; he gave thanks to the gods; and offered more victims when he had nothing to fear than he registered vows in time of apprehension.
He was accustomed in the midst of anxiety to wear an aspect of gaiety, but, when the victory was won, of gentleness.
Amongst friends his warmest greeting was reserved, not for the most powerful, but for the most ardent; and if he hated, it was not him who, being evil entreated, retaliated, but one who, having had kindness done to him, seemed incapable of gratitude.
He rejoiced when sordid greed was rewarded with poverty; and still more if he might himself enrich a righteous man, since his wish was to render uprightness more profitable than iniquity.
He made it a practice to associate with all kinds of people, but to be intimate only with the best.
As he listened to the praise of this man, or the censure of another, he felt that he learnt quite as much about the character of the speakers themselves as of those whom they discussed.
To be cheated by a friend was scarcely censurable, but he could find no condemnation strong enough for him who was outwitted by a foe. Or again, to dupe the incredulous might argue wit, but to take in the unsuspecting was veritably a crime.
The praise of a critic who had courage to point out his defects pleased him; and plainness of speech excited in him no hostility. It was against the cunning rather of the secretive person that he guarded himself, as against a hidden snare.
The calumniator he detested more than the robber or the thief, in proportion as the loss of friends is greater than the loss of money. (2)