Granted, Lycinus. What next? Must we live a hundred years and have all that trouble? Is there no other way of studying philosophy?

No, Hermotimus. Nor need we complain if what you said at first is true: that life is short and art is long. And now I don’t understand why you are distressed if you cannot become a Chrysippus or a Plato or a Pythagoras today before sunset.

You hedge me round, Lycinus, and drive me into a corner, although I have done you no harm. Clearly you are doing this from spite, because I have made progress in my studies while you have neglected yourself—at your age too.

Do you know what? Take no notice of my ravings, but leave me to my silly chatter, and you go on your way as you are and finish what you decided to do in the first place.

You are so compulsive that you do not let me make any choice unless I try them all.

Well, you may be sure that I shall never say anything else. When you call me compulsive you seem to me to be blaming the innocent, as the poet says; Homer, Il., 11, 654. for I myself, as long as no other argument comes to your aid to release you from the compulsion, am at present a helpless captive. But look, the argument is going to bring much greater pressure to bear on you, but perhaps you will ignore that and blame me.

How? I should be surprised if it had anything left to say.