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Reflecting on this very thing, I—the same man who just yesterday so bravely repelled those external darts—now immediately succumb, pierced by the internal stings of conscience. For among other things, this bit and burned my mind sharply: that unless I now—while I am being swept away in another direction by such a great rush of pleasure—immediately set myself to this work (in which at least some hope of public benefit shines forth), I could not be certain whether, in all those labors I have exhausted so far in writing, the consideration of the Pleasant original: Jucundi; referring to the aesthetic or personal satisfaction of writing. rather than the Honorable original: Honesti; referring to moral duty and the public good. had perpetually driven me. Nor could I be sure that my works were the fruits of true Virtue, rather than the effects of a certain Cacoëthes From the Greek kakoēthes, a medical term used by classical authors like Juvenal to describe an "itch" or "malignant habit"—here, an uncontrollable urge to keep writing. for scribbling. To such an extent that the very thing which previously held me back most strongly now most violently of all impelled me to undertake this present work. And the more unpleasant the task seemed, the more obstinately I attacked it, so that it might be more clearly established to my own satisfaction that my sincerity was genuine.
But in truth, to confess frankly how things stand: once I had outlined the scope of the whole work in my mind (which I did in a very short space of time) and had finished a part of it, the undertaking began to please and flatter me so much that, although certain things happened in the middle of my progress