From Lucretius

Suave, mari magno turbantibus.—Lib. II. v. 1.

Sweet is it, when the stormy winds have roused The boisterous ocean, from on shore to view The toiling mariner; not that the pain Of others gives us pleasure, but for that To see what ills we ’scape ourselves is sweet: And it is sweet, when armies on the plain Array’d for battle join in mortal strife, To stand aloof from danger and look on: But nothing sweeter is, than all serene In the strong towers of wisdom high to dwell, And thence look down upon the wandering race Of men, that vainly seek the path of life; Vying in genius, or nobility; With unabated labour, night and day Striving to rise supreme in wealth or power.