Disease, imprisonment, disaster, fire — none of these should surprise us. I've always known what a chaotic world nature has placed me in. I've heard mourning for the dead in my neighborhood many times. I've seen torches and candles carried past my door for people who died too young. I've heard buildings collapse nearby. Night has taken away many people I knew well in the forum, the Senate, and in social circles. It has broken apart hands that were joined in friendship. Should I really be surprised if the dangers that have always surrounded me finally strike me too? Think about how many people never consider storms when they're about to set sail.
Disease, captivity, disaster, conflagration, are none of them unexpected: I always knew with what disorderly company Nature had associated me. The dead have often been wailed for in my neighbourhood: the torch and taper have often been borne past my door before the bier of one who has died before his time: the crash of falling buildings has often resounded by my side: night has snatched away many of those with whom I have become intimate in the forum, the Senate-house, and in society, and has sundered the hands which were joined in friendship: ought I to be surprised if the dangers which have always been circling around me at last assail me? How large a part of mankind never think of storms when about to set sail?