Such is our life, brothers, of we who live only briefly: a sort of game played upon the earth. Not having existed, we were brought into being, and having been brought into being, we are dissolved. We are a dream that does not last, a phantom that cannot be grasped, the flight of a bird that passes and is gone, a ship passing through the sea and leaving no trace, dust, vapor, morning dew, a flower that sprouts up and in a moment is withered--man, his days are like grass, he blossoms like the flower of the field (Ps. 102:15 LXX), as the divine David aptly said when he reflected on our weakness.
St Gregory the Theologian, Or. 7.19
