Plain
Seneca — The Senator

You say, "I can't stand it. Injuries are too hard to bear." But that's not true. If you can bear being angry, how can you not bear the injury itself? Think about what you're actually doing — you're choosing to endure both the injury AND the anger. Why do you put up with a sick person's wild talk? Or a crazy person's ranting? Or when a child hits you? Because they don't know what they're doing. If someone isn't responsible for their actions, does it really matter what made them that way? The excuse of ignorance works the same in every case.

On Anger, Book 3, Section 26 Book 3 · 78 of 121
Facing Hardship Human Nature Calm Your Mind
Seneca — The Senator Original

You say, “I cannot endure it: injuries are hard to bear.” You lie; for how can any one not be able to bear injury, if he can bear to be angry? Besides, what you intend to do is to endure both injury and anger. Why do you bear with the delirium of a sick man, or the ravings of a madman, or the impudent blows of a child? Because, of course, they evidently do not know what they are doing: if a man be not responsible for his actions, what does it matter by what malady he became so: the plea of ignorance holds equally good in every case.

On Anger, Book 3, Section 26 Book 3 · 78 of 121
Seneca — The Senator

There's no doubt about it: when you look at your tormentor with contempt, you rise above the crowd and see them from a higher place. True greatness means not feeling the blows that come your way. Think of a huge wild animal that slowly turns to look at yapping dogs. Think of waves crashing uselessly against a great cliff. The person who doesn't get angry stays unshaken by injury. The person who gets angry has been moved by it. But the person I've described — the one who sits too high for any harm to reach him — holds the highest good in his arms. He can reply not just to any person, but to fortune herself: "Do what you want. You're too weak to disturb my peace. Reason forbids it, and I've put reason in charge of my life. Getting angry would hurt me more than your violence ever could." 'More harm?' you ask. Yes, absolutely. I know exactly how much damage you've done to me. But I have no idea what terrible things anger might make me do.

On Anger, Book 3, Section 25 Book 3 · 77 of 121
Calm Your Mind Freedom & Control
Seneca — The Senator Original

It canot be doubted that he who regards his tormentor with contempt raises himself above the common herd and looks down upon them from a loftier position: it is the property of true magnanimity not to feel the blows which it may receive. So does a huge wild beast turn slowly and gaze at yelping curs: so does the wave dash in vain against a great cliff. The man who is not angry remains unshaken by injury: he who is angry has been moved by it. He, however, whom I have described as being placed too high for any mischief to reach him, holds as it were the highest good in his arms: he can reply, not only to any man, but to fortune herself: “Do what you will, you are too feeble to disturb my serenity: this is forbidden by reason, to whom I have entrusted the guidance of my life: to become angry would do me more harm than your violence can do me. ‘More harm?’ say you. Yes, certainly: I know how much injury you have done me, but I cannot tell to what excesses anger might not carry me.”

On Anger, Book 3, Section 25 Book 3 · 77 of 121
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Ancient philosophy, in plain English.

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