I

Seneca to his Lucilius, greeting. Do this, my Lucilius: claim yourself for yourself, and gather up and guard the time that, until now, has either been stolen from you, subtly snatched, or simply slipped away.

Convince yourself of this truth I write: some time is wrested from us, some is quietly taken, and some flows away unnoticed.

But the most shameful loss is the one caused by negligence.

And if you pay attention, you'll see this: a great part of life is wasted by doing evil, the greater part by doing nothing, and the whole of it by doing things other than what we should.

Who will you give me—someone who sets a value on time, who reckons the worth of a day, who understands that he is dying every day?

For in this we are deceived: we look forward to death as if it lies ahead—yet a great portion of it has already passed; whatever years lie behind us, death already holds.

So, my Lucilius, do what you say you're doing: embrace every hour; in this way, you will become less dependent on tomorrow, if you seize hold of today.

While life is being postponed, it runs on.

All things, Lucilius, belong to others—only time is truly ours; nature has given us ownership only of this one fleeting and slippery thing, from which anyone who wants to can drive us out.

And such is the foolishness of mortals that they let others hold them accountable for receiving the cheapest and most trivial things—things easily replaced—yet no one thinks he owes anything when he's been given time, even though this is the one gift that even a grateful person cannot give back.

You may ask, perhaps, what I'm doing—I, who preach this to you.

I'll admit it freely: like a spendthrift who nonetheless keeps careful accounts, I can at least tell you where my time goes.

I cannot say I lose nothing, but I can say what I lose, and why, and how; I can give a full report of my poverty.

Yet I suffer the same fate as many who fall into hardship through no fault of their own: everyone excuses them, but no one helps.

So then, what is the answer?

I do not consider a man poor who has enough, however little that may be; still, it's better that you safeguard what's yours, and start while the time is good.

For, as our ancestors thought, 'Thrift comes too late at the bottom of the barrel'—for what's left at the bottom isn't just the least, but the worst. Farewell.