All that’s coming, young man, is vapor. That doesn’t mean life is empty or meaningless; it’s just that our lives are fleeting, ephemeral, fugitive, given to rhythms of consolidation and dissolution. Like a mist that evaporates, not only does our mortal life come to an end, but the seasons and microepochs that make up our lifetime coalesce and form like clouds that appear solid and formidable, only to disappear in the afternoon.
