Death (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠abundantly available everywhere, so why sail to find it? It will fetch you from your bed — just make sure you are innocent when it does.

Death (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the justice of nature: it makes no difference whether one stone or a whole mountain crushes me, whether I die alone or with nations — death amounts to the same thing everywhere.

Death (n.) asks ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠of us something insignificant, however vast the apparatus it arrives with: an earache, a bad meal or a sore foot will do the same job as an earthquake.

Death (n.) summons ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠everybody alike: fortune varies her allocations of everything else, and whether the gods are angry or well disposed we must die.

Lightning (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠not the greatest danger you face but the showiest: you will be targeted by a sword, a stone, or bile.

Lightning (n.) spares ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠what yields and shatters what resists: it passes harmlessly through soft things and forges its way through stone and iron.

Lightning (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠subtle in a way that looks divine: it melts the coins in a box that stays whole, the sword inside an untouched sheath, the spearhead on an undamaged shaft.

Lightning (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a lightning-flash that has made it all the way to earth, and a lightning-flash is nearly a bolt: they differ not in nature but in force.

God (n.) can ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠be called by any name: fate because everything depends on him, providence because he provides, nature because all is born of him, the world because he himself is all you see.

God (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠his own necessity: the same course must seem right to the one to whom only the best course can seem right, and that makes him no less free.

God (n.) cannot ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠change his mind, which is truer for him than for the wise man: a wise man knows what is best at the moment, but everything is present to god's nature.

God (n.) differs ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠from us in having nothing apart from mind: he is nothing but reason.

Mirror (n.) was ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠invented so that human beings might know themselves: the handsome person is warned off dishonor, the ugly one learns that virtue must compensate, the young man is reminded that beauty marks the time for learning, the old man to reflect on death.

Mirror (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠no longer for our appearance; it has become essential for any and every vice.

Mirror (n.) can ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠lie in two directions: some deform the face into something frightening, others swell the biceps to superhuman size and flatter the viewer.

Mirror (n.) does ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠not create anything but displays it, which is why a reflection can appear and vanish in an instant.

Fate (n.) includes ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the means: it is fated that a man be eloquent but only if he learns to read, and the same fate includes that he learn to read.

Fate (n.) cannot ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠be altered by a lightning-bolt, because the bolt is itself a part of fate.

Fate (n.) goes ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠round in circles: if it has missed something out for a while, it goes back to it and allows nothing to be immune and unharmed.

Fate (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a necessity governing all events and all actions which no force can disrupt, and whoever thinks it can be placated by a snow-white lamb does not know the divine.

Luxury (n.) cannot ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠enjoy anything unless it is expensive, so it priced even water: the one thing in which the rich could not outdo the poorest.

Luxury (n.) fakes ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠or surpasses nature, and shows it by making the incredible ordinary: a fish caught under the table and killed at dinner rather than for it.

Luxury (n.) has ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠been lethargic for ages and has only now woken up to realize it was being cheated of something so fine — the colors of a dying fish.

Luxury (n.) gets ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠worse gradually, enticed onward by wealth itself, until what were female toiletries are standard male equipment, even for soldiers.

Flattery (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a door we push to rather than lock, as a man shuts a door on a girlfriend: if she forces it open she endears herself, and more so if she breaks it down.

Flattery (n.) wins ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠fastest when brazen: the more openly it wipes away its own blushes, the swifter the victory, until the person sparing with it seems mean.

Flattery (n.) gives ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠pleasure even when rejected: it claims credit for the very fact that it is repudiated, and is often welcomed back after being spurned.

Flattery (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠never lost when caught: the flatterer makes excellent progress when rebuked, better still if he blushes, and the most open flatterer wins fastest.

Earth (n.) seen ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠from above is a pinprick, mostly sea, the rest unfarmed, burnt or frozen, and it is carved up among nations by sword and fire.

Earth (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a pinprick on its own scale: anyone who measures the world properly sees that nothing can project far enough from it to feel the heavens more strongly.

Earth (n.) dies ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠before I do: what shakes is itself shaken, and it harms itself in the act of harming us.

Earth (n.) feeds ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the heavens: it supplies nourishment even to the heavenly bodies, so energetic and eager in their activity and their feeding.

Fear (n.) ends ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠where it is total: if you want to be afraid of nothing, regard everything as something to be afraid of.

Fear (n.) was ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠set overhead on purpose by wise men: for those for whom innocence has no attraction unless fear is the driving force, they placed above an avenger, and an armed one.

Fear (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a small madness: even in private and moderate doses it unsettles the mind, so a whole city's terror is no surprise.

Mind (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠something everyone agrees we have and no one can explain: it commands us, yet it is still trying to understand itself.

Mind (n.) measures ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a great undertaking by how much of the work remains, not by how much of its own life remains — and grows taller at the sight of the size.

Mind (n.) shows ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠its own divinity by delighting in the divine and enjoying it not as someone else's possession but as its own.