Eat, drink and be wary, for tomorrow you may live.

Death makes sense: it’s life that is freakin’ meaningless.

The sage cries out that life is meaningless; we understand this great wisdom because it is false.

“Vanity, vanity,” cries the singer then sits down to a fine dinner.

One of wealth’s byproducts is meaninglessness; one of poverty’s is gratefulness.

The extremes devour dreams; reasonable builds what is possible.

Meaninglessness exists where we find it, not in our philosophizing about it.

Meaning passes through a winter just before becoming a wonder.

To everything there is a season understood by rhyme and reason.

Cord and bowl, pitcher, wheel — all are broken at the well, but the soul is safe with God.

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