请在英文状态下输入标点符号

But the new day begins to flash past in the sigh. What can I do, in this bustling world, with my days flying in their escape? Nothing but to hesitate, to rush. What have I been doing in that eight-thousand-day rush, apart from hesitating? Those bygone days have been dispersed as smoke by a light wind, or evaporated as mist by the morning sun. What traces have I left behind me? Have I ever left behind any gossamer traces at all? I have come to the world, stark naked. Am I to go back, in a blink, in the same stark nakedness? It is not fair though: why should I have made such a trip for nothing! You the wise, tell me, why should our days leave us, never to return?