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All a man can be sure of is what he gets here on earth. He gets it here or he never gets it at all. Don't comfort yourself that what you bear with in life will be made up by felicity in heaven, or that the enemy who harms you will be fittingly punished in hell, for what you get here on earth, whether it's riches or poverty, happiness or sorrow, is all you ever get, and what you want or have merited has nothing to do with it. The pleasant days, the quiet places: the money jingling in the pocket, the cities and countries you would like to see, the things you would like to do- all this you enjoy here on earth or forever go without. There's no making up what you've missed, no going back: no triumphs for the long-suffering, no fiery torments for the evil-doers. Nobody keeps acounts, and once the worms have finished with them the murderer rests as peacefully as his victim. Our work and our dreams, the good we did, the evil we suffered, the hope we kept alive in our hearts...None of it matters, and our laughter and tears and prayers alike come to no more than the howl of a dog in the night, heard for a moment and then heard no more...

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