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The portrait busts of me were mass-produced by my followers and sent to communities of Epicureans across the Greek and Roman world. They kept them in their homes and gardens. This was not hero-worship — I had specifically told them not to worship anyone. It was a reminder of the teaching: that the good life is available now, in the garden, among friends, with plain food and the absence of unnecessary pain.

I have been badly misunderstood. When people say Epicurean today they mean someone who indulges in luxuries — fine wine, elaborate food. I taught the opposite. I said pleasure is the absence of pain, not the pursuit of excess. My own diet was bread, water, and occasionally cheese. I lived simply and died in pain from kidney stones, saying it was the best day of my life because I was surrounded by friends. That, not the cheese, was the point.