S urely every man walks to and fro—like a shadow in a pantomime; surely for futility and emptiness he is in turmoil; each one heaps up riches, not knowing who will gather them.
الإنسانُ مُجَرَّدُ ظِلٍّ. نَندَفِعُ بِسُرعَةٍ مَحمُومَةٍ جامِعِينَ أشياءَ لا نَدرِي لِمَنْ سَتَكُونُ.
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