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There is inherent in the minds of men, especially the more generous ones, and as our Justin says, εὖ πεφυκόσι those of good natural disposition, an incredible desire for knowledge and understanding. We desire to know all things: the present, the past, and, above all, the future; and since we see that these are immediately wrapped in thick darkness, we grow weary of the present, pass over it quickly, and turn our eyes mostly toward the past, and we wish for nothing of great importance that has happened or occurred since the birth of man to escape our notice. Hence we unroll the annals of all nations, and we consider ourselves greatly indebted to those by whose labor it is permitted to extend our knowledge and, in a way, our very life, into the immense space of past time; while, having become contemporaries of our ancestors, we are present at events that took place many thousands of years ago, and we acquire for ourselves the wisdom of all ages and the long experience of the greatest affairs, even in our early youth. We are present and we contemplate the rising walls of Rome; we enter the Senate; we express our opinion as if wearing the toga; we declare war; we go forth in military dress; we come, we see, we conquer, we triumph, and we return to our furrows. And now, as private citizens, we assist the Republic with our counsel, now strengthened by arms. We favor the good, we contend with the factious, we advocate for useful laws and argue against those that are destructive; we strive equally for the authority of the Senate and the power of the people; and while we act as good citizens in a foreign republic, we unexpectedly prove ourselves the best in our own. Italy now tires us, and we cross over into Greece, and [we contemplate] the heroes and...