Life is sad. People, you know, are going to pass, and you know

Hear the words of James Mercer, spoken with the quiet gravity of one who has looked into the heart of existence: “Life is sad. People, you know, are going to pass, and you know that you will one day.” At first these words may seem plain, even stark, yet within them lies the oldest truth humanity has ever faced—that mortality shadows every joy, and that impermanence is the law under which all must live.

The ancients knew this well. The Greeks inscribed upon their hearts the saying memento mori—“remember that you must die.” For they saw, as Mercer declares, that every feast, every triumph, every tender love is framed by the certainty of an end. The sadness of life is not hidden; it is written in the seasons, in the falling of leaves, in the setting of the sun. Yet within this sadness also lies clarity, for the knowledge of death teaches the value of life. To deny this truth is to live shallowly; to face it is to live deeply.

Consider the tale of the samurai, warriors of ancient Japan. Each morning they meditated upon their death, imagining it vividly, not to despair, but to sharpen their spirit. By accepting that they too would pass, they became fearless, living with honor, cherishing the fleeting present. This is Mercer’s wisdom: when you know the end is inevitable, every moment of life becomes more precious, every bond more sacred, every breath more radiant.

History also teaches this lesson in the story of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor and philosopher. Surrounded by war, plague, and loss, he wrote in his Meditations that “you could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do, say, and think.” Though surrounded by grief, he did not despair. Like Mercer, he accepted the sorrowful truth: life is sad, for all must die. Yet he transformed this into guidance—live well now, for the hour is short.

To say that people will pass is not only to acknowledge the death of others, but also to face the end of oneself. This double recognition is the heart of compassion. When you know that others too will fade, you treat them with gentleness. When you know that your own time is brief, you waste less of it on bitterness and vanity. The sorrow of mortality, then, is also the soil of kindness.

The lesson for us is clear: do not flee from the truth of mortality, but let it shape your life wisely. Do not let the sadness paralyze you; let it awaken you. Love those around you fiercely, for they are temporary. Seek beauty, for it will fade. Pursue justice, for your days to act are limited. To live as if endless is folly; to live as if fleeting is wisdom.

Practical action follows: tell those you love that you love them, often and without delay. Do not postpone joy until tomorrow, for tomorrow is never promised. Forgive quickly, for grudges are meaningless in the face of death. Begin what you fear to begin, for hesitation is the thief of your brief years. Carry the awareness of death not as a burden, but as a lantern that lights the path of a meaningful life.

Thus, Mercer’s words, simple yet profound, echo the voice of the ancients: life is sad, yes, for all must pass. But in this sadness is also the greatest gift—the urgency to live with depth, to love with courage, and to walk each day with reverence. For it is not endless life that makes us noble, but fleeting life lived well.