Fortunate is the tree that can hardly feel,
and even more the hard stone because it can't feel at all,
because there is no grief bigger than the grief of being alive,
and no greater affliction than conscious life.
To be, and to know nothing, and to have no certain course,
and the fear of what was and a terror of the future...
And the certain terror of being dead tomorrow,
and to suffer for life and for the shadow and for
what we do not know and hardly suspect,
and for the flesh which tempts with its fresh grapes,
and the tomb that waits with its funeral branches,
and to not know where we go
nor from where we come!...