And I am praising the dead who have already died above the living who are yet alive.
And I have hated life, for sad to me is the work that hath been done under the sun, for the whole is vanity and vexation of spirit.
Better is a name than good perfume, And the day of death than the day of birth.
Ye do not weep for the dead, nor bemoan for him, Weep ye sore for the traveller, For he doth not return again, Nor hath he seen the land of his birth.