Quotes About Life

Between men and women," as Jenny Fields once said, "only death is shared equally.

IT DOESN'T MATTER WHERE YOU LEARNED IT -- IT'S A GIFT. IF YOU CARE ABOUT SOMETHING, YOU HAVE TO PROTECT IT -- IF YOU'RE LUCKY ENOUGH TO FIND A WAY OF LIFE YOU LOVE, YOU HAVE TO FIND THE COURAGE TO LIVE IT. - owen meany :')

In the life of a man," wrote Marcus Aurelius, "his time is but a moment . . .

TAKE ALMOST ANYTHING FROM JUDE THE OBSCURE. HOW ABOUT THAT TERRIBLE LITTLE PRAYER THAT JUDE REMEMBERS FALLING ASLEEP TO, WHEN HE WAS A CHILD? "TEACH ME TO LIVE, THAT I MAY DREAD "THE GRAVE AS LITTLE AS MY BED. "TEACH ME TO DIE

Imaginer les choses vaut mieux que se les rappeler », avait écrit Garp.

Even if there is only death after death (after death), be grateful for small favors—sometimes there is birth after sex, for example. And, if you are very fortunate, sometimes there is sex after birth! Oh yeth, as Alice Fletcher would have said. And if you have life, said Garp's eyes, there is hope you'll have energy. And never forget, there is memory

Wit isn't tentative; therefore, neither is it young. Wit is one of many aspects of life and literature that is far easier to recognize onstage than in a book. My students are always missing the wit in what they read, or else they do not trust it; onstage, even an amateur actor can make anyone see what wit is.

Das Leben ist leider nicht so gebaut wie ein guter, altmodischer Roman. Vielmehr endet es, wenn sich diejenigen, die sich erschöpfen sollen, erschöpft haben. Alles, was bleibt, ist die Erinnerung.

Everyone has a history, Jack.

living in a world where nothing bears out in practice what it promises incipiently." I

Life forces enough final decisions on us," Mrs. Oastler continued. "We should have the sense to avoid as many of the unnecessary ones as we can.

Churchill Park have their bellies turned toward the sun.

Unrevised, real life is just a mess.

HERE is the epilogue; there always is one. In a world where love and sorrow float, there are many epilogues—and some of them go on and on. In a world where doom always muscles in, some of the epilogues are short.

Then I flipped to the end of the diary and reread his last entry. "TODAY'S THE DAY! '… HE THAT BELIEVETH IN ME, THOUGH HE WERE DEAD, YET SHALL HE LIVE; AND WHOSOEVER LIVETH AND BELIEVETH IN ME SHALL NEVER DIE.

I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord …'" my father began. There was something newly powerful and confident in his voice, and the mourners heard it; the congregation gave him their complete attention. Of course, I knew what it was that had changed in him; he had found his lost faith—he spoke with absolute belief in every word he uttered; therefore, he never stuttered

Of all the things you choose in life, you don't get to choose what your nightmares are. You don't pick them; they pick you.

As for my faith: I've become my father's son—that is, I've become the kind of believer that Pastor Merrill used to be. Doubt one minute, faith the next—sometimes inspired, sometimes in despair. Canon Campbell taught me to ask myself a question when the latter state settles upon me. Whom do I know who's alive whom I love? Good question—one that can bring you back to life.

Your first loss of a loved one, the first death of someone dear to you—when it happens, the pace of everything changes. In the past, there were times when nothing seemed to be happening. When you lose someone, you're aware of the earth's motion; the world is always moving, always ahead of you. For the rest of your life, you know there are other deaths coming—one after another, yours included.

We don't always have a choice how we get to know one another. Sometimes, people fall into our lives cleanly–as if out of the sky, or as if there were a direct flight from Heaven to Earth–the same sudden way we lose people, who once seemed they would always be part of our lives.

May you be spared such a moment of recognition as this—namely, the conviction that most of your happiness lies behind you, and the lion's share of your loneliness looms ahead.

She told all the would-be biographers, exactly as he would have, "Read the work. Forget the life.

beauty, and Owen possessed a

May the spirit of death make a clerical error and forget you exist.