Prayer (n.) has asked for the greatest evils: the source of everything that needs consolation is what we thanked the gods for.
Prayer (n.) is clean when you ask God for nothing you could not ask for openly — yet men whisper their basest prayers to heaven and fall silent if anyone listens.
Prayer (n.) answered is how the gods bestow magnificent ills: with genial faces they give what irritates and tortures, justified by the fact that it was asked for.
Prayer (n.) for a sound mind is foolish, when you can get one from yourself.
Prayer (n.) of our nurse, guardian and mother for our good fortune is a curse: we have grown up amid the curses invoked by our parents, and they are worse the more completely they are fulfilled.
Prayer (n.) has asked for our greatest evils: from what once made us give thanks comes everything that now demands consolation.
Prayer (n.) for a life of honour secretly asks also for Regulus’s chest, Cato’s torn wound and the cup that removed Socrates from gaol to heaven — things without which life sometimes cannot be honourable.
Prayer (n.) is itself a link in fate's chain: the gods leave some things in suspense, but only so that our praying can be among their causes.
Prayer (n.) for wisdom is foolish, Seneca wrote, since you can get it from yourself: no need to whisper into a statue's ear when the god is near you, with you, inside you.