“In every age the wisest have passed the identical judgement on life: it is worthless… Does wisdom perhaps appear on earth as a raven which is inspired by the smell of carrion? … … Even Socrates said as he died: ‘To live – that means to be a long time sick: I owe a cock to the saviour Asclepius’. Even Socrates had had enough of it… – Did he himself grasp that, this shrewdest of all self-deceivers? Did he at last say that to himself in the wisdom of his courage for death? … Socrates wanted to die – it was not Athens, it was he who handed himself the poison cup, who compelled Athens to hand him the poison cup. … ‘Socrates is no physician,’ he said softly to himself: ‘death alone is a physician here. … Socrates himself has only been a long time sick…’”
Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols, Translated by R. J. Hollingdale, Penguin, 1990.