The question–that which at the age of fifty brought me to the edge of the abyss–was the simplest of questions… “What will come of what I am doing today or shall do tomorrow? What will come of my whole life?”
Differently expressed, the question is: “Why should I live, why wish for anything, or do anything?” It can also be expressed thus: “Is there any meaning in my life that the inevitable death awaiting me does not destroy?”
My deeds whatever they may be will be forgotten sooner or later, and I myself will be no more, why then do anything? I therefore could not attach a rational meaning to a single act of my entire life. The only thing that amazed me was how I had failed to realize this from the very beginning. How could anyone fail to see this? That’s what is amazing.
It’s possible to live, as long as life intoxicates us. But once we’re sober…
What are you living for?
Leo Tolstoy, A Confession