Exile (n.) is answered by regarding yourself as born in the place you are sent.
Exile (n.) is impossible within the universe, for nothing within the universe is foreign to man.
Exile (n.) is no unhappiness for the wise man, for whom every place is his homeland.
Exile (n.) feels like a hospitable home, even at the ends of the earth, once the sickness inside you is cured.
Exile (n.) is nothing but a change of place, and even the worst places of exile have people living there by choice.
Exile (n.) cannot take the two finest things: universal Nature and one's own virtue follow wherever one goes.
Exile (n.) is nothing worse than a change of place — its horror lies in a name, which the people have decreed to be dismal and accursed.
Exile (n.) on the barren island has more foreigners than natives: no place of exile is without someone who lingers there by his own choice.
Exile (n.) is never what we praise; we praise the man who goes into exile in the spirit in which he would have sent another there.
Exile (n.) is not exile when no one is less ashamed than the condemned: Rutilius would rather have his country blush for his exile than weep for his return.
Exile (n.) frees the mind for its own tasks: idle of other business, it plays with lesser studies and, in its passion for truth, rises to contemplate its own nature and the universe's.