Letters 73.11

And if even such leisure as that of our poet owes a great debt to its author, though its greatest boon is this:

As thou canst see, He let me turn my cattle out to feed, And play what fancy pleased on rustic reed;

how highly are we to value this leisure of the philosopher, which is spent among the gods, and makes us gods?

Seneca, Letters to Lucilius 73.11, translated by Richard Mott Gummere