"My son, you're young; although there are white hairs shining in your
dark locks, and furrows on your brow already. But in the days when my
hair was black and young girls used to look at me with favour, I
remember sailing in a ship, near Thessalonica, and seeing Mount
Olympus. Its base and its girdle melted into blue, and its snowy
summit seemed hanging in the air, dominating sky and sea, golden and
inaccessible. I mused 'Behold the dwelling of the gods!' and I was
full of emotion. But on this same ship there was a scoffing old man
who called himself an Epicurean. He pointed out Mount Olympus, and
said to me: 'My friend, travellers have long ago climbed Olympus, and
they saw that it was an ordinary mountain, like other mountains, on
which there was nothing but snow, ice and stones!' And those words
sank so deep into my heart that I shall remember them all my life."