And boring and sad, and none to be given a hand

When a minute of suffering comes

Desires! … what’s the use of desiring vainly without a stand? …

While the years slip by—the best ones!

To love … whom again? … for a while—it is worth no pains,

But to love for eternity no one could.

Shall you look in yourself?—of the past no vestige remains:

There all has been nothing, every joy, every wound …

What passions?—After all sooner or later their pleasant disease

Shall vanish, if you reason it out at rest

And life, if you look it all over with icy attention—it is

Such an empty and foolish jest …