In the life of man, his time is but an instant, his
substance ceaselessly changing, his senses degraded, the flesh of his body
subject to decay, his soul turbulent, his fortune difficult to predict, and his
fame a question mark. In a word, his
body is like a rushing stream, his soul an insubstantial dream, life is a
warfare, he is a stranger in a foreign land, and even after fame comes
oblivion.
Marcus Aurelius
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