Ah, here's an oak.
«Spring. And love. And happiness. Haven't you grown weary of this foolish, senseless illusion? Over and over again, and all sheer illusion. There is no spring, no sun, no happiness. I don't believe in your hopes and illusions».
— It is right, that oak, right a thousand times. Let the young and the naive give themselves over to this fraud. But we know what life is. Our lives are over. I must live out my days without malice, without excitement, without desire.
