The Moving Finger writes; and having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
The Ruba'iyat Of Omar Khayyam
We are the pieces of the game that plays the sky; We amuse ourselves with ourselves on the chessboard of Being; And then we are returned, one by one, to the box of Nothingness.