"Shall he who soars, inspired by loftier views, Life's little cares and little pains refuse? Shall he not rather feel a double share Of mortal woe, when doubly arm'd to bear?"

"Let's learn to live, for we must die alone."

"Men deal with life as children with their play, Who first misuse, then cast their toys away."

"Life is an incurable disease."

"His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I'm sure, was in the right."

"Life for delays and doubts no time does give, None ever yet made haste enough to live."

"This life's a hollow bubble, Don't you know? Just a painted piece of trouble, Don't you know? We come to earth to cry, We grow older and we sigh, Older still, and then we die! Don't you know?"

"Life is but thought."

"To know, to esteem, to love,—and then to part, Makes up life's tale to many a feeling heart."

": No one has lived a short life who has performed its duties with unblemished character."

"Nemo parum diu vixit, qui virtuis perfectæ perfecto functus est munere."

": Nature has lent us life at interest, like money, and has fixed no day for its payment."

"Natura dedit usuram vitæ tanquam pecuniæ nulla præstitua die."

": The life given us by nature is short; but the memory of a well-spent life is eternal."

"Brevis a natura nobis vita data est; at memoria bene reditæ vitæ sempiterna."

"However, while I crawl upon this planet I think myself obliged to do what good I can in my narrow domestic sphere, to all my fellow-creatures, and to wish them all the good I cannot do."

": We come and we cry, and that is life; we yawn and we depart, and that is death!"

"On entre, on crie, Et c'est la vie! On bâille, on sort, Et c'est la mort!"

": He who lives well is the best preacher."

"Bien predica quien bien vive."

"How many lives we live in one, And how much less than one, in all."

"One life;—a little gleam of Time between two Eternities."

"There is no life of a man, faithfully recorded, but is a heroic poem of its sort, rhymed or unrhymed."

"A well-written life is almost as rare as a well-spent one."

"Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fleetness; And those of Youth a seeming length, Proportioned to their sweetness."

"Life is with such all beer and skittles. They are not difficult to please About their victuals."

"The dust we tread upon was once alive."

"Our life is two-fold; sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence."

"Through life's road, so dim and dirty, I have dragged to three and thirty; What have these years left to me? Nothing, except thirty-three."

"All is concentred in a life intense, Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, But hath a part of being."

"Did man compute Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er Such hours 'gainst years of life, say, would he name threescore?"

"Life is but a day at most."

"O, Life! how pleasant is thy morning, Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning! Cold pausing Caution's lesson scorning, We frisk away, Like schoolboys, at the expected warning, To joy and play."

"O Life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I!"

"No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers, The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold."

"I count life just a stuff To try the soul's strength on."

"Have you found your life distasteful? My life did, and does, smack sweet. Was your youth of pleasure wasteful? Mine I saved and hold complete. Do your joys with age diminish? When mine fail me, I'll complain. Must in death your daylight finish? My sun sets to rise again."

"I know—is all the mourner saith, Knowledge by suffering entereth; And Life is perfected by Death."

"Whose life is a bubble, and in length a span."

"The long habit of living indisposeth us for dying."

"Life is a pure flame, and we live by an invisible sun within us."

"I would not live over my hours past … not unto Cicero's ground because I have lived them well, but for fear I should live them worse."

"A little sun, a little rain, A soft wind blowing from the west, And woods and fields are sweet again, And warmth within the mountain's breast A little love, a little trust, A soft impulse, a sudden dream, And life as dry as desert dust, Is fresher than a mountain stream."

"Life, believe, is not a dream, So dark as sages say; Oft a little morning rain Foretells a pleasant day!"