If you ask an artist, a painter, why he works, why he does all that, he will say that it is for the sake of beauty, for the sake of art, or for the sake of earning, but behind it all is the desire of life. The soul always wishes to be alive. No one wishes to be dead, and if anyone says, "I wish I were dead," "I wish I had never lived," it is said when the spell of emotion is upon him, or else in a fit of anger or sadness. Or the soul that feels itself captive in the mind and body, may wish to break these prison bars and to exist as it existed before, it does not know where or how, somewhere, somehow.