All that my eyes desired, I did not deny them. I did not refuse myself any pleasure, for I took pleasure in all my struggles. This was my reward for all my struggles.

So I admired the dead, who have already died, more than the living, who are still alive.

In such circumstances, I saw the wicked buried. They came and went from the holy place, and they were praised in the city where they did so. This too is futile.

This is an evil in all that is done under the sun: there is one fate for everyone. In addition, the hearts of people are full of evil, and madness is in their hearts while they live—after that they go to the dead.

But there is hope for whoever is joined with all the living, since a live dog is better than a dead lion.

For the living know that they will die, but the dead don’t know anything. There is no longer a reward for them because the memory of them is forgotten.

Dead flies make a perfumer’s oil ferment and stink;
so a little folly outweighs wisdom and honor.