All life is entropy. This is an eternal law decreed by the ultimate legislator since the beginning of time. Eventually you and all you love will wither away to nothingness. Your parents, your children, your favorite books. Fortunately, we must always look on the bright side, this law applies likewise to all of life’s evils like illness, war and members of Congress. Nevertheless, despite aeons of experience with the passing of things, we continue, little Countess Rostovas that we are, to mourn their passing.
Today, for instance, brings Moscow’s last day. Prices spike and money devalues as the Muscovites scramble in a vain attempt to hold on to what they think belongs to them. The old Count, valuing human life, offers cart space to help evacuate wounded soldiers. The old Countess, valuing possessions, berates him for his foolishness and demands the Rostov’s things are all properly packed and ready to go. Their grasping disturbs the house. The Count is an angered man. The Countess is a crying mess.
To what end this profitless striving after what cannot be captured?
Do not admire your clothes, and you will not be angry with the man who steals them. Do not admire the beauty of your wife, and you will not be angry with the adulterer. Know that a thief and an adulterer have no place among the things that are properly your own, but only among the things that belong to others, and which are not in your power. If you give up these things, and look upon them as nothing, with whom will you still be angry? But as long as you admire them, be angry with yourself rather than with others.
Epictetus, The Discourses