The ancient preacher who penned the Book of Ecclesiastes was more than a cynic, he was a wise man who correctly assessed the futility of life. Unlike Faulkner, he did not conclude that life was entirely worthless, nonetheless I think he would have a measure of agreement with the Southern sage:
“When the shadow of the sash appeared on the curtains it was between seven and
eight oclock and then I was in time again, hearing the watch. It was Grandfather’s and when Father gave it to me he said, ‘I give you the mausoleum
of all hope and desire; it’s rather excruciatingly apt that you will use it to gain the reducto absurdum of all human experience which can fit your individual needs no better than it fitted his or his father’s. I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won,’ he said. ‘They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools.’”
William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury