09/06/2025
Some books hit harder the older you get.
‘On the Shortness of Life’ by Seneca is one of them.
I started reading this when my cousin, someone I grew up with and liked a lot, died. He was in his early thirties. Sudden. Heartbreaking.
Seneca’s stoicism has no fluff in it whatsoever. Unlike Marcus Aurelius’s ‘Meditations’ which was written for himself, Seneca wrote for others.
He wastes no time.
It reads like it was written yesterday, not 2,000 years ago. You’ll want a pen. A drink. And a minute to sit in silence before, during, and after.
Here are a few quotes that stuck:
“You are living as if destined to live for ever; your own frailty never occurs to you; you don’t notice how much time has already passed, but squander it as though you have a full and overflowing supply – though all the while that very day which you are devoting to somebody or something may be your last.”
“How late is it to begin really to live just when life must end!”
“… unproductive idleness nurtures malice, and because they themselves could not prosper they want everyone else to be ruined.”
“The performer must always be stronger than his task: loads that are too heavy for the bearer are bound to overwhelm him.”
“You must set your hands to tasks which you can finish or at least hope to finish, and avoid those which get bigger as you proceed and do not cease where you had intended.”
It’s a short book that leaves a long echo. Read it. Let it bother you. Then go live better.
