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Verse 17

I hated life; my life, though accompanied with so much honour, and pleasure, and wisdom, was a burden to me, and I was apt to wish either that I had never been born, or that I might speedily die.

The work that is wrought under the sun is grievous unto me; all human designs and works are so far from yielding me that satisfaction which I expected, that the consideration of them increaseth my discontent.

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