What manner of thing, then, is this power which keeps men in fear while they possess it⁠—which when thou art fain to keep, thou art not safe, and when thou desirest to lay it aside thou canst not rid thyself of? Are friends any protection who have been attached by fortune, not by virtue? Nay; him whom good fortune has made a friend, ill fortune will make an enemy. And what plague is more effectual to do hurt than a foe of one’s own household?”

Self-Mastery

Who on power sets his aim, First must his own spirit tame; He must shun his neck to thrust ’Neath th’ unholy yoke of lust. For, though India’s far-off land Bow before his wide command, Utmost Thule homage pay⁠— If he cannot drive away Haunting care and black distress, In his power, he’s powerless.