Man reaches scarce a hundred, yet his tears
Would fill a lifetime of a thousand years.
When days are short and night’s long hours
Why not with lamp in search of
This day alone gives sure enjoyment – this!
Why then await tomorrow’s doubtful bliss?
Fools grudge to spend their wealth while
And then posterity their thrift derides.
We cannot hope, like Wang Tzú-ch’iao
And find a paradise beyond the skies.
Anon, 1st cent. B.C.