De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum

I. When a short time ago my friend Atticus was with me at my villa in the district of Cumæ, news was sent us by Marcus Varro, that he had arrived in Rome the day before in the evening, and that if he had not found himself too tired after his journey he should have proceeded at once to see us. But when we heard this, we thought that we ought not to suffer anything to delay our seeing a man so intimately connected with us by an identity of studies, and by a very long standing intimacy and friendship. And so we set out at once to go to see him; and when we were no great distance from his villa we saw him coming towards us; and when we had embraced him, as the manner of friends is, after some time we accompanied him back to his villa. And as I was asking a few questions, and inquiring what was the news at Rome, Never mind those things, said Atticus, which we can neither inquire about nor hear of without vexation, but ask him rather whether he has written anything new; for the muse of Varro has been silent much longer than usual; though I rather suppose he is suppressing for a time what he has written, than that he has been really idle. You are quite wrong, said he; for I think it very foolish conduct in a man to write what he wishes to have concealed. But I have a great work on hand; for I have been a long time preparing a treatise which I have dedicated to my friend here, (he meant me,) which is of great importance, and is being polished up by me with a good deal of care.