Just existing isn't the same as truly living. Our vices attack us from all sides and won't let us stand up or look toward truth. They keep us flat on our backs, chained to shallow desires. People trapped like this never get a chance to think clearly. If they do get a moment of peace, they toss around like rough ocean waves after a storm. Their cravings never give them rest. You think I'm only talking about people with obvious problems? Look at the successful people everyone admires — they're drowning in their own good fortune. How many wealthy people are crushed by the weight of their money? How many brilliant speakers have died because they couldn't stop showing off? How many are pale and sick from constant pleasure-seeking? How many have lost all freedom because crowds of hangers-on follow them everywhere?
But all duration is time, not life: vices press upon us and surround us on every side, and do not permit us to regain our feet, or to raise our eyes and gaze upon truth, but when we are down keep us prostrate and chained to low desires. Men who are in this condition are never allowed to come to themselves: if ever by chance they obtain any rest, they roll to and fro like the deep sea, which heaves and tosses after a gale, and they never have any respite from their lusts. Do you suppose that I speak of those whose ills are notorious? Nay, look at those whose prosperity all men run to see: they are choked by their own good things. To how many men do riches prove a heavy burden? how many men's eloquence and continual desire to display their own cleverness has cost them their lives? how many are sallow with constant sensual indulgence? how many have no freedom left them by the tribe of clients that surges around them?