There is no peace as complete as to die. It is the end of your story and the end of you. For the living, their stories are still going on. There is strife until death, and there are always problems between people, and even when there are no problems, problems are still there. Being alive is a problem that cannot be solved with living. The self is ever stirred like the leaves in the trees. The leaves quiver and quake, just like we do. A person cannot stop their quivering and quaking, which is the essence of a human life. But no danger comes to the one who is dead. Their problems with everyone
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