things, but ever has the sight of the rapid changes in things, and their wretched purpose, driven me away."
(In the World the Mind of Man findeth not that which it seeks.)
2. Then the interpreter: "What but thy own imagination is the cause of this? If thou didst not sift too curiously the ways of men, and argue all questions everywhere, thou wouldst, like the others, enjoy a quiet mind, pleasure, gladness, happiness." "Yes," I said, "if I clung to outward seemings, as thou hast; if I considered casual, tasteless laughter pleasure, thought the reading a few valueless books wisdom, and a small morsel of accidental felicity the summit of satisfaction. But why dost thou not take into account[1] the sweat, tears, groans, sickness, want, downfall, and other misfortunes that I see in all the estates, countless, measureless, endless? Alas! oh, alas! Oh, over this miserable life! You have led me everywhere, and what has it availed me? It was promised me that I should be shown riches, learning, pleasure and security. But of all these things what have I? Nothing! What have I learnt? Nothing! Where am I? That I myself know not. This only I know, that after so much struggling, so many labours, so much constant danger, so much fatigue and weariness of the mind, I find, at last, but wretchedness within me, and hatred of me in others!"
- ↑ Literally, "where remain."
