Utopia

While I am constantly pleading some cases, hearing others, settling some as an arbiter, and deciding others as a judge; while I visit one person for the sake of duty and another for business; while I give almost the entire day to others abroad and the remainder to my own, I leave nothing for myself—that is, for my studies. For when I return home, I must talk with my wife, chatter with my children, and converse with my servants. I count all these things as business, since they must be done (and they must be, unless you wish to be a stranger in your own house). And one must entirely devote effort to ensuring that you make yourself as pleasant as possible to those whom nature has provided as companions of your life, or whom chance has made so, or whom you have chosen yourself, provided that you do not spoil them with over-familiarity or turn servants into masters through indulgence. Among these things that I have mentioned, the day, the month, and the year slip away. When, therefore, do I write? And I have not even spoken of sleep, or indeed of food, which for many consumes no less time than sleep itself, which consumes nearly half of life. But this is the only time I acquire for myself: that which I steal from sleep and food. Because it is scant, it goes slowly, but because it is something, I have finally completed it, and I have sent Utopia to you, my Peter, so that you might read it and see if anything escaped us.