Chrysantas was about to strike his enemy when he heard the trumpet call retreat. He decided it was better to obey his general's command than to follow his own desires. But none of us are like that. When necessity calls, we don't obey readily. Instead, we cry and complain about what we have to suffer. We call these things "circumstances." What kind of circumstances, man? If you call everything around you "circumstances," then everything is circumstances. But if you only call hardships by this name, what hardship is there really in the death of something that was created to die? The thing that destroys might be a sword, a wheel, the sea, a falling tile, or a tyrant. Why do you care about how you go down to Hades? All ways are equal. But if you want the truth, the way the tyrant sends you is actually shorter. A tyrant never took six months to kill someone. But a fever often takes a whole year. All these things are just noise and empty words.
But Chrysantas when he was going to strike the enemy checked himself when he heard the trumpet sounding a retreat: so it seemed better to him to obey the general's command than to follow his own inclination. But not one of us chooses, even when necessity summons, readily to obey it, but weeping and groaning we suffer what we do suffer, and we call them "circumstances." What kind of circumstances, man? If you give the name of circumstances to the things which are around you, all things are circumstances; but if you call hardships by this name, what hardship is there in the dying of that which has been produced? But that which destroys is either a sword, or a wheel, or the sea, or a tile, or a tyrant. Why do you care about the way of going down to Hades? All ways are equal. But if you will listen to the truth, the way which the tyrant sends you is shorter. A tyrant never killed a man in six months: but a fever is often a year about it. All these things are only sound and the noise of empty names.