Sartre repeated joyfully the same words just a little before World War Two. Camus the existentialist sees reality as bound to whatever is palpable, but whatever is faith is totally refused. He glorifies what exists now, all the external beauty and nature. He contradicted himself, however, when he described man as a soccer player who plays and struggles all his life to get the ball to the summit of the mountain. Yes, life for these people is a small death growing daily.
Life is eaten up by death.
The former gets smaller and the latter gets bigger. Birth is the beginning of death and not for life. A person's birthday is the first step towards death. A life like that is death. In this way, life and death become synonymous.