from the article:
To Live and Die
Smoke and nothingness, the breath of being: Flower, man, and bird die too as love runs to forgetful seas and pleasure flees to a burial of brevity.
Where are yesterday’s lights? All splendors have their dusk, behind liquor hides all bitterness, and everything is rectified by the evil of being born.
Who laughed without first, in pain, moaning pleasure, sweet suffering? Crazy and vain, the passion of feeling!
Vain and crazy, I long for thought! What is it to live? To dream without sleeping. What is it to die? To sleep without dreaming.