Ernest Renan, Marcus Aurelius, tr. William G. Hutchison (London; New York: The Walter Scott Publishing Co., 1904), 229 & 233 (emphasis mine):
Living his [that is, Marcus Aurelius’] life without pleasure, as without revolt, resigned to the destiny which nature had assigned him, he did his everyday duties with the thought of death constantly before him. His wisdom was absolute, which is another way of saying that his ennui was limitless. War, the court, the theatre—all wearied him alike, and, none the less, what he did, he did well, for he did it as a duty. At the point which he had reached, pleasure and pain, men's love and their hatred were one and the same thing. Glory is the last of illusions, and yet how vain a thing it is, and how fast the memory of the greatest man fades away! The most brilliant courts, like that of Hadrian, grand festal displays like those of Alexander, what are they but a theatrical show which passes and is cast aside? The actors change, but the inanity of the play is the same. [...]
In his latter days he came to self-delusion and oblivion of all. But through what struggles he had to pass to reach that consummation! During long years an inward malady slowly consumed him. That despairing effort which is the very essence of his philosophy, that passion for renunciation, at times pushed even to sophistry, hid beneath them a gaping wound. How imperative it must have been to say farewell to happiness in order to attain to such excesses! Never will men understand all the sufferings of that poor, blighted heart, or the bitterness which lay masked behind that pale countenance, ever calm and almost smiling. True it is that that farewell to happiness is the beginning of wisdom, and the surest way of finding happiness. There is nought so sweet as the return of joy that follows the renunciation of joy; nought so keen, so deep, so full of charm as the enchantment of the disenchanted.
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