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.