I've finished reading the Epic of Gilgamesh, a poem written ~1750 B.C. in what is now Iraq. It's the tale of a heroic king who arrogantly angers his gods, who then strike down his only friend and equal. It is a story of friendship and loss, of the value of living life to the fullest and, perversely, of the futility of human life. Powerful stuff, even from a distance of 4000 yrs.
"Have you ever paused to compare your own blessed lot with a fool's?/Can't you see how fortunate you are?/ [in grief] You have worn yourself out through ceaseless striving/you have filled your muscles with pain and anguish/And what have you achieved but to bring yourself/one day nearer to the end of your days?" - The Epic of Gilgamesh Book X
"Only the gods live forever. Our days/are few in number, and whatever we achieve/is a puff of wind. Why be afraid then/since sooner or later death must come?" Epic of Gilgamesh Book III
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