Second Sentry
[Sighs] Many things are written. Who can understand them all?
First Sentry
This is idle dreaming. The Chaldeans have invested our town; they wish to burn our houses; I stand here with sword and spear, and will do my utmost to prevent them. Too much knowledge is unwholesome. I know all I want to know.
Second Sentry
Yet I cannot but ask myself …
First Sentry
[Stubbornly] You should not ask so many questions. A soldier’s business is to fight, not to reason why. You ponder overmuch, instead of doing your duty unquestioningly.
Second Sentry
How can a man help questioning himself? How can he be other than uneasy, at such an hour? Do I know where I am, or how long I have still to stand on guard? This darkness beneath the wall, where the masonry is crumbling, will perhaps be my grave to-morrow. Maybe the wind which now caresses my cheek will not find me here in the morning. But can I fail, while I live, to ask the meaning of life? The flame flickers until the torch goes out. How can life do other than question until it is quenched by death? Maybe death is already within me; perchance the questioner is no longer life, but death.