What foolishness it is to desire more life, after one has tastedA bit of it and seen the world; for each day, after each endless day,Piles up ever more misery into a mound. As for pleasures: once weHave passed youth they vanish away, never again to be seen.Death is the end of all.Never to be born is the best thing. To have seen the daylightAnd be swept instantly back into dark oblivion comes second.