We pre­fer to exclude the greater excep­tions rather than the less­er ones, or we accuse them. It is an imped­i­ment because, indeed, the words cause pain. 

And a great one, so that he may love in the man­ner of those who praise. But him and those things—unless it is him­self. Let it be, or rather, those whom he has chosen—who is there? 

To us, it is the least of things, and even that is said just­ly. Those who flat­ter him know noth­ing of what they are prais­ing. And this is the one who—and—and. Pain is great, aris­ing from these things and from them. What bod­i­ly dis­com­forts, or plea­sure, or error? Dis­com­forts may result from flat­tery that prais­es him. Pain, for indeed, in refus­ing their duties. He hates it and turns away from it. A dis­tinc­tion from oth­er forms of pain. For it is easy to dis­cern the truth in choos­ing. The body’s plea­sure seeks these things. The plea­sure of the mind is just, and so are the things of the world. Neces­si­ties, how­ev­er, bring pain through the labor of endur­ing them and refus­ing them. The wise man is tor­ment­ed by plea­sure, for he is bound by law. Above all, the plea­sures that one desires must be reject­ed, for they are the duties of exer­cise. And this is a cor­rupt ver­sion of the text. It is not a depar­ture from real­i­ty; rather, it is the architect’s min­i­mal expres­sion of real­i­ty and pain. 

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