Either in conflict with others or in harmony with them,
we go through life like a runaway horse, unable to stop.
Working hard until the end of his life,
unable to appreciate any achievement,
worn out and incapable of resting,
isn’t he a pathetic sight?
He may say, ‘I’m still alive,’ but so what?
When the body rots, so does the mind – is this not tragic?
Is this not ridiculous, or is it just me that is ridiculous and
everyone else is sane?The Book of Chuang Tzu, chapter 2