Every word affords me pain. Yet how sweet it would be if I could hear what the flowers have to say about death!

The speaker confesses a radical distrust of language: words, rather than consoling, wound—perhaps because they falsify experience or cannot bear the weight of mortality. Against this painful human medium, Cioran imagines an impossible alternative: to hear “what the flowers have to say about death.” Flowers, emblematic of beauty and transience, “know” death by embodying it—blooming toward decay without reflection or rhetoric. The wish suggests envy of a nonverbal, natural wisdom in which death is neither dramatized nor denied. The line thus stages Cioran’s characteristic tension between lucidity (which hurts) and a longing for an innocent, wordless perspective that might make death “sweet” or at least intelligible.