The majority of mortals, Paulinus, complain of the malice of nature, because our life is short, and because this span which is granted to us flows away so rapidly and so swiftly that, save for a very few, all the others are left in the deepest weariness as soon as they have ceased to be young. And this is true not only of the common crowd and of those whose only distractions are pleasures: it is also true of those whose existence has been devoted to the loftiest careers and to glory. Thus he who said, 'O wretched and fleeting life of man!' was only crying out with all the rest. What deceives us is not the shortness of life, but our own: we do not lack time, we waste a great deal of it. Life is long enough for men of good will, and even for the accomplishment of great things. But when it flows away in luxury and negligence, when it is consumed without ever being devoted to great undertakings, and when at last we feel its end only at the moment when it is past, we discover too late that it was flowing by. Why then do we weep over nature? She acted rightly in granting our existence a duration that is short yet free, for him who uses it well and does not let himself be swallowed up by vanities. Life is long, if you know how to use it. But when misfortune comes of dissipations and of servitudes, or when a part is lost through excess, or when it is abandoned, we perceive that it has passed, and that what we did not know was passing has passed. Thus we are not given a short life; we make it short. And it is not of the duration of time that we are short, but of the way we employ it. Consider, Paulinus, those who have long been chafing at the bit in the courts, in the countryside, in their struggles; consider those whom their eager ambitions drive on, whom the sequel of a lawsuit torments, or the regret of years squandered, or the infirmities of an ever more grasping old age. Behold the men who cannot wait, who throw away gold to hasten the passing of the hours, who, forever busy, count each instant, and watch the seasons flee without ever having savored one. Some, enslaved by love, long for repose amid the very torments to which they cling. Others, jealous of an enviable glory, are carried far away by ambition without limits. Certain ones are absorbed in wealth, and, surrounded by possessions that stifle them, own nothing for themselves. Many, forever occupied in correcting the faults of others, do not know themselves. And there are those who, giving themselves over to obscure business, tremble in the shadows of servile labor, whose indignity makes boredom flee; they themselves, in the emptiness of their life, come to dread their own existence. Nothing is harder to grasp than this saying: 'Life is long, if you know how to use it.' Those who live in pomp and luxury will tell you that they have no time. What do you say? It is that they have no time to live! And so it is with all: the busiest are the idlest, those who live in the uselessness of their pleasures. They live by themselves, or by others. One hates no one as much as the man one has forgiven. The life of those who labor only for the body is always painful. The busy without purpose never feel time passing: only those who have used it well know that it has flowed by. No one gives back time; one gives back only what one still possesses when it has not been lost. Just as we see men living surrounded by riches and yet call them wretched, because they lose everything through possessing, so do we live within time. The goods of the earth, though open to all, are kept for the man who knows how to possess them; time is most often lost by the one who needed it most. In the life of men, as in their bodies, there are seasons of health and seasons of languor. The nature of things is such that this time, which passes so swiftly and flees, remains constant in the course of the world. Therefore, my dear Paulinus, free yourself from these occupations, and, disentangled from these dusts that are not yours, devote yourself to a better life. Keep for yourself the best part of your time; give yourself to yourself. Those who always keep for themselves the time most necessary, those who freely dispose of their life, live the longest. Life is long, if you know how to use it; but most often it does not belong to the one who lives it. For believe me, the greatest losers are those who have never lived for themselves: they hunger after their life while spending it for others. Do not wait until old age forces you to find yourself. Count your days from this very day, and see how many, among so many years, remain truly your own. You will see that you have not lived, but only hoped to live.