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Now, as to myself, let me address you both at once and beg you to believe that the case stands thus: If I were to assert that I am unmoved by grief at Scipio’s death, it would be for wise men to judge how far I am right, yet, beyond a doubt, my assertion would be false. For I am indeed moved by the loss of a friend such, I believe, as I shall never have again, and—as I can assert on positive knowledge— a friend such as no other man ever was to me. But I am not devoid of a remedy, and I find very great consolation in the comforting fact that I am free from the delusion which causes most men anguish when their friends depart. I believe that no ill has befallen Scipio; it has befallen me, if it has befallen anyone; but great anguish for one’s own inconveniences is the mark of the man who loves not his friend but himself.