Dear friend, 

If you are reading these words, you have inherited not lands or coins, but thought. You have received a share of my mind, distilled from years of reflection, trial, error, and silent meditation beneath the stars.

Know this: your time is your most valuable possession. You may think you own estates, titles, or influence. But these are illusions. Time alone belongs to you. And yet, you squander it as if it were endless, handing it out to strangers, to petty distractions, to idle gossip, while guarding your gold with vigilance. You are a miser of silver, but a spendthrift of days.

Do not live as if you are going to live forever. You are dying daily. Each morning you awake, you are given a loan. Use it well, for the collector always comes—quietly, without warning.

I have been rich and poor, praised and vilified, close to emperors and far from peace. Only when I turned inward did I begin to possess anything of value. Philosophy taught me to live. It also taught me to die—not with fear, but with acceptance. What greater power is there than to look at death, and feel no dread?

We are more often frightened than hurt, and we suffer more from imagination than from reality. Let philosophy be your protector. 

Farewell,
Seneca