Life is like a beautiful melody, only the lyrics are messed up.
And by a prudent flight and cunning save A life which valour could not, from the grave. A better buckler I can soon regain, But who can get another life again?
Life, which all creatures love and strive to keep Wonderful, dear and pleasant unto each, Even to the meanest; yea, a boon to all Where pity is, for pity makes the world Soft to the weak and noble for the strong.
We are the voices of the wandering wind, Which moan for rest and rest can never find; Lo! as the wind is so is mortal life, A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.
This strange disease of modern life, With its sick hurry, its divided aims.
Saw life steadily and saw it whole.
Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome.
We come and we cry, and that is life; we yawn and we depart, and that is death! [Fr., On entre, on crie, Et c'est la vie! On baille, on sort, Et c'est la mort!]
As a mortal, thou must nourish each of two forebodings--that tomorrow's sunlight will be the last that thou shalt see; and that for fifty years wilt live out thy life in ample wealth.
The World's a bubble, and the Life of Man less than a span: In his conception wretched, from the womb so to the tomb. Curst from his cradle, and brought up to years with cares and fears. Who then to frail mortality shall trust, But limns the water, or but writes in dust.
Life is just part of the big picture.
Sooner or later, you start taking yourself seriously. You know when you need a break. You know when you need a rest. You know what to get worked up about and what to get rid of. And you know when it's time to take care of yourself, for yourself. To do something that makes you stronger, faster, more complete. Because you know it's never too late to have a life. And never too late to change one.
The real malady is fear of life, not of death.
Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect.
The consciousness of loving and being loved brings a warmth and richness to life that nothing else can bring.
A lifetime is more than sufficiently long for people to get what there is of it wrong.
A little more moderation would be good. Of course, my life hasn't exactly been one of moderation.
Drama is life with the dull bits cut out.
It's not true that life is one damn thing after another; it is one damn thing over and over.
Life can only be understood back- wards; but it must be lived forwards.
Life is divided into the horrible and the miserable.
The hero is the one who kindles a great light in the world, who sets up blazing torches in the dark streets of life for men to see by. The saint is the man who walks through the dark paths of the world, himself a light.
Life is no brief candle to me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got a hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.
The life that conquers is the life that moves with a steady resolution and persistence toward a predetermined goal. Those who succeed are those who have thoroughly learned the immense importance of plan in life, and the tragic brevity of time.
The wine of life keeps oozing drop by drop. The leaves of life keep falling one by one.