Some live. Others live it up!

It begins as a slogan, a banner in the evening sky, playful as champagne bubbles yet weighty as a question of life itself. At first glance, it appears nothing more than a phrase—short, rhythmic, easy to remember. Yet it unfolds like a trapdoor into language, culture, and history, revealing its paradoxical and multifaceted nature. To “live up” is never simply one thing: it can mean to rise, to flourish, to meet a standard, or to squander what has been given. This phrase, with its deep cultural and historical roots, connects us to our past and shapes our present. In Malmö, perched high above the flatlands of Skåne, it becomes a promise of height and horizon. But in Latin, in Rome, in the songs of Nero, it becomes something altogether different—a philosophy written in wine, fire, and stone.

“Feast Above, Feast Below

High on the terrace, the glasses all gleam,
wine like a river, a sparkling dream.
Low in the courtyard, the laughter will flow,
music unites us, both high and low.

Rich with their togas, poor with their shoes,
everyone’s welcome, no one can lose.
Stars in the rafters, candles below,
joy is a ladder where all may go.

High is the rooftop, low is the ground,
yet in the circle, the same song is found.
Raise your glasses, let everyone know:
Some live, some rise, but we all live it up so.”
Malmö. October 2025

Some live. Others live it up.

In the eternal gathering on the twenty-fourth floor, Baron von Richthofen’s old red Fokker buzzed past, towing a banner with a striking message: “Vissa lever vanligt, andra lever upp!” In English: “Some live. Others live it up!” Against the darkening pink sky, the city lights stretched out beneath.

It is a slogan, not a literal translation. Short, rhythmic, with the kind of double meaning that works in both languages — but in different ways. Att leva upp in Swedish is richer than any single English verb can express. It means to brighten, to flourish, to come alive. Yet, it also signifies rising, reaching a higher level, or fulfilling something expected. And there’s another twist: to use up, to consume, even to squander. All of these shades shimmer in the phrase, depending on how the light hits them.

Perched on a Malmö high-rise, the slogan resonates not only with the joy of living but also with the physical act of rising above a flat landscape. The sheer joy of living high up, with the city lights twinkling below, is an experience that elevates the spirit. It's a feeling of being on top of the world, with nothing but the vast sky above and the twinkling city lights below. Aside from a few glacial ridges and two or three tall buildings, nothing in Skåne breaks the horizon. To live twenty-four storeys above the ground is already to live differently.

Let us consider the English version: “Some live. Others live it up.”

The phrase “live it up” exudes a sense of indulgence. It signifies celebrating, taking pleasure in oneself, and casting aside inhibitions. It feels like bubbles of champagne, the rhythm of jazz, and the glint of neon lights. It is playful, nearly decadent.

By contrast, “Some live. Others rise” would sound more solemn, almost biblical, as if hinting at a transcendent reality. This contrast between living and rising is a powerful reflection of the human experience, where we are constantly balancing the weight of expectation with the potential for transcendence. It's a reminder that life is not just about meeting expectations, but also about surpassing them, about rising to the occasion and meeting life's demands with grace and courage. That too is part of “att leva upp” in Swedish: to rise to the occasion, to surpass oneself, to meet a demand.

Thus, a single small phrase in one language can expand in many directions. A banner pulled by an old triplane suddenly transforms into a tiny philosophy of life.

On the ground, “att leva upp till” is often burdensome. It signifies living up to the expectations of parents, teachers, employers, and society as a whole. It implies a standard, an external measure that you must meet or fail to meet. It is an obligation rather than a source of joy.

How different, then, from the effortless “leva upp” when a friend cracks a joke and the whole table bursts into laughter. Then one “lives up” in another sense: the face brightens, the body lifts, the spirit blossoms—no demands, no burden—only release.

Here lies one of the great paradoxes of language: the precise verb phrase can convey both duty and delight, both the burden of expectation and the ease of joy. This paradox is a testament to the complexity and richness of human expression, where a single phrase can hold multiple layers of meaning. It's a reminder that language, like life, is full of paradoxes and complexities, and that the true beauty of both lies in their ability to hold multiple meanings and interpretations.

And then there is the darker side: ”att leva upp sina tillgångar”. To spend everything, to deplete one's resources. The gambler at the roulette wheel, the heir who squanders an inheritance, the spendthrift who burns through resources as if tomorrow will never arrive. In this sense, to “live it up” is perilously close to ruin.

There is also a kind of tragic grandeur in this meaning. To consume what has been given, to burn one’s candle at both ends, to live passionately until nothing remains. Is this not also part of what we admire in certain artists and legendary figures? Vincent van Gogh, who painted as if each stroke might be his last. Edith Piaf, whose voice embodied every ounce of her life’s sorrow and joy.

So: to live up can mean to rise, to blossom, to fulfil — but also to spend, to exhaust, to squander.

Placed within the context of architecture and housing, this wordplay gains added resonance.

Living high up in a building like Docks already embodies one meaning: to ascend. To look out over Malmö, across Öresund towards Denmark, is to live among the clouds compared to the streets below. It is to be elevated, to be granted a new horizon.

But to live also means to bring joy into a space. A dinner on a terrace, laughter echoing against the evening sky, music drifting from an open window — the apartment is not just inhabited, it is animated. It has been brought to life.

And yes, there is always the risk of excess. Champagne bottles poured too quickly, resources exhausted, the fleeting sparkle of a lifestyle that cannot endure. That too is part of the phrase: to live up to one’s fortune.

Thus, a winding banner in the evening sky becomes a reflection on language, life, and architecture.

“Some live. Others live it up.” It's not just a slogan; it's a profound question. Do we merely exist, or do we rise, rejoice, fulfil, and perhaps even squander? Do we live under expectations, or do we live beyond them?

Ultimately, the phrase embodies the essence of the human condition. We all strive to rise above, to justify something greater, to bloom with joy, and sometimes, to spend recklessly what we have been given.

Living up to something is not just one thing; it encompasses many. Perhaps the most genuine life is one that dares to embrace all these meanings simultaneously.

How might the old reveller Nero have expressed himself on this magical evening, when twenty-four floors of Malmö rise into the dark pink sky? Perhaps with a mixture of delight and vertigo. For even he, accustomed to splendour, excess, and scandal, had never reached such heights.

In his era, the Pantheon in Rome, a grand structure finished in the early third century CE, held the record as the tallest interior in the city. Its dome, a staggering 43.45 metres from floor to oculus—the open circle to the sky—was an ancient marvel. This height was not just a physical attribute, but a symbol of the divine connection it facilitated. In this space, the gods came down to the people, a testament to human ingenuity and sacred connection.

Probably the tallest building in the Roman Empire, regardless of category, was Hadrian’s mausoleum, later known as Castel Sant’Angelo, at forty-eight metres. A determined soul could climb it, gaze out over the Tiber, the Colosseum, and the endless sea of rooftops, a view that seemed to stretch to infinity, but never higher.

Nero himself, who once sang from the heights of the Palatine while the city burned, would surely have felt dizzy at the thought of sitting on a terrace seventy-nine metres above ground, drinking wine beneath the stars. The irony of his past actions, where he was accused of fiddling while Rome burned, and his potential present actions would have been intriguing. He might have called it superbia—height, pride, hubris—and still let the music flow. And who knows? Perhaps he, with a laugh as red as his toga, would have found the words:

“Alii vivunt. Alii superbe vivunt.”
(Some live. Others live it up.)

There are, in fact, several Latin expressions that are similar in meaning, although none capture all the nuances of the Swedish “leva upp” (to blossom, to fulfil, to consume). However, each of these Latin expressions encompasses different aspects of 'leva upp', contributing to the full understanding of the concept. Here are a few examples, each with its own unique shade of meaning that contributes to the full knowledge of 'leva upp':

For “leva upp” as blossoming, shining, rejoicing:

“Florere” – to flourish, to be in full bloom.

“Vivere alacriter” – to live cheerfully, brightly, vividly.

“Animari” – to be enlivened, to kindle, to become spirited.

For “leva upp till” as fulfilling, meeting expectations:

“Exspectationi respondere” – to answer to an expectation.

“Officium explore” – to carry out a duty.

“Ad altiora niti” – to strive for higher things.

For “leva upp” as using up, squandering:

“Consumere” – to consume, to use up, to waste.

“Dissipare” – to scatter, to squander.

“Luxuriose vivere” – to live in extravagance, to live lavishly.

And, of course, the most timeless phrase of all, nearly covering the entire spectrum, is Horace’s “Carpe diem”—“seize the day.” It captures not just joy and fleetingness, but also the reckless intensity of life, reminding us of the urgency to live fully in every moment.

Therefore, one might say that Swedish “leva upp” would, in Latin, require a whole range of words: florere, explere, consumere—to flourish, to accomplish, to consume.

And then, just as the laughter echoed across the terrace of the grand villa —a monument of opulence where Malmö's elite had gathered for a lavish evening —the red Fokker banner fluttered in the twilight sky. One of the guests rose. His toga, which had gone unnoticed as an eccentric costume, caught the lantern light. With a mischievous smile, he raised his glass of wine and began to speak, half toast, half confession.

You think this is just another party high above Malmö, but you do not realise what kind of Time-traveller you have welcomed into your company. I, who have sung while Rome burned, I, who have drunk from golden cups, I, who have seen the gods descend through the oculus of the Pantheon. Yet even I have never lived so high above the ground.

In my native tongue, we had a multitude of expressions for what you would call ‘living life to the fullest.’ We spoke of florere—to bloom like the blossoms of spring. We talked of exspectationi respondere—to meet the standards set by emperors and gods. We spoke of consumere—to use up everything, to live life as if it were coins in a purse.

And I, Nero, have embodied all of these ideals. I have flourished. I have met expectations. I have squandered. I have lived a life of excess, of danger, of indulgence.

Salutem! So, drink, friends! Tonight, we shall soar higher than any Roman dome, higher than Hadrian’s tomb, higher even than my own pride—Alii vivunt. Alii superbe vivunt. Some live. Others indulge.

He laughed—a laugh as red as his gown—and the company, half-dazed by the revelation, half-dazed by the wine, laughed with him.