One posed each other the question, is this life worth it? Or would it have been better to have never been born? To never have left the darkness down there?
The following considerations were presented for the one side: life comprises scoundrels, trouble and bus journeys, burnt veal chops, haste, urges and restlessness, tooth-ache, theatre premieres and cigar stubs, rubbish, strife and disgust, disgust, disgust.
And the following was presented for the other side of the question: it is a clear, sunny January day above our flat landscape. White clouds are being blown slowly by the East wind. They have flame-red edges. The sky is pale towards the horizon, and ever deeper blue towards its zenith. If you look straight upwards, you can see into the clear, mighty depth of the cosmos. A swarm of gulls is circling right in front of this depth. It is sometimes golden, sometimes dark, depending on the rhythm with which it flaps its wings.
And one answered the question as follows: even if life should offer no other pleasure than this second with the gulls, I would scream for it from the nights of nothingness. I would scream for it.
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