"They sent forth men to battle, But no such men return; And home, to claim their welcome, Come ashes in an urn"

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I stare at this ceaseless, rushing crowd and imagine a time a hundred years from now. In a hundred years everybody here-me included-will have disappeared from the face of the earth and turned into ashes or dust. A weird thought, but everything in front of me starts to seem unreal, like a gust of wind could blow it all away.

— Haruki Murakami