Whenever a man is provoked, therefore, let him say to himself, “Am I more mighty than Philip? Yet he was cursed and did not retaliate. Have I more authority over my house than the deified Augustus had over all the world? Yet he was content merely to keep away from his maligner.” What right have I to make my slave atone by stripes and manacles for too loud a reply, too rebellious a look, a muttering of something that I do not quite hear? Who am I that it should be a crime to offend my ears? Many have pardoned their enemies; shall I not pardon the lazy, the careless, and the babbler? Let a child be excused by bis age, a woman by her sex, a stranger by his independence, a servant by the bond of intercourse. Does someone offend for the first time? Let us reflect how long he has pleased us. At other times and often has he given offense? Let us bear longer what we have long borne. Is he a friend? He has done what he did not mean to do. Is he an enemy? He did what he had a right to do. One who is sensible let us believe, one who is foolish let us forgive. Whoever it may be, let us say to ourselves on his behalf that even the wisest men have many faults, that no man is so guarded that he does not sometimes let his diligence lapse, nor so seasoned that accident does not drive his composure into some hot-headed action, none so fearful of giving offense that he does not stumble into it while seeking to avoid it.