I too have drunk the poisoned cup, And felt the death-chill creep Until it reached my tortured heart That wanted sleep. But someone snatched the cup away And would not let me die. It is my heart alone that's dead, Not I.
For 'reason is the god in us' [some poets say] and 'Mortal life contains a portion of some god.' We ought, therefore, either to pursue philosophy or to say farewell to life and depart hence.
I must die, must I? If at once, then I am dying: if soon, I dine now, as it is time for dinner, and afterwards when the time comes I will die. —Epictetus, Discourses, I.i