Quotes About Life

You know, we don't always understand what we're living inside of, or how it will matter. We can guess all we want and prepare, too, but we never know how it's going to turn out.

Beginning are important, too, darling. You should be patient with life.

There's so much to lose." "There always is," she said. I sighed and reached for another biscuit. "Are you always this wise, Ruth?" "Only when it comes to other people's lives.

Getting your heart broken is the privilege of being human.

What am I meant for then?" "How wonderful that question is, Beru." He smiled mysteriously. "And as you did not die on this day, you have more time in which to answer it.

Because it's not always easy to know how to live.

His words were another kind of current. "What am I meant for then?" "How wonderful that question is, Beru." He smiled mysteriously. "And as you did not die on this day, you have more time in which to answer it." —

still couldn't believe that Kibii could cross the most momentous threshold of his life without my hearing a whisper of it. I scanned the area for Buller, wanting to be gone as quickly as possible, but didn't see him. I made off anyway, and had reached the edge of the ridge, readying myself for the steep descent, when I heard Kibii calling my name.

That's the saddest piece as I see it, and have over and over. How some victims don't have even a whisper of no inside them. Because they don't believe the life they have is theirs to save. (seven) All the way to the village, I feel like a shaken-up snow globe, sharp flecks of memory colliding head on.

Maybe happiness was an hourglass already running out, the grains tipping, sifting past each other.

This is why there is poetry. For days like these.

Beginnings are important, too, darling. You should be patient with life.

real business of what it meant to live in those time periods came alive for

What will you do now?" "Live until it gives me away, of course. And drink only the best champagne. There's not time for anything else." His face was delicate and sensitive-looking, like a well-bred cat's. He also had rich brown eyes that seemed to want to laugh at the idea of sadness or self-pity.

Memory couldn't be counted on. Time was unreliable and everything dissolved and died—even or especially when it looked like life. Like spring. All around us, the grass grew. Birds made a living racket in the trees. The sun beat down with promise. From that moment forward, Ernest would always hate the spring.

Life is full of messes. Your mistakes aren't bigger than anyone else's.

There wasn't anything simple about them, and I preferred that, and trusted it. My life wasn't simple either.

There's death in life, Anna, things too impossible to bear. So many things, and yet we bear them.

The poem seemed to be about how naturally dignified animals are and how their lives make more sense than those of humans, which are cluttered with greed and self-pity and talk of a distant God.

All I could do was hope that at some point his central loyalty would shift to me. This house could help, I knew. If I threw everything into it, he would see how absolutely wonderful our life could be together.

People interest me so much. They're such wonderful puzzles. Think of it. Half the time we've no idea what we're doing, but we live anyway.

How could I possibly judge you? We each have to make our choices, and then find a way to live with them. And if we can't, well, then, that's when we know something has to change.

I've prepared for everything as well as I can, but is anyone truly ready for death? Was Maia when she saw the ground flying up to meet her?

Mary Lovell's Straight On Till Morning: The Life of Beryl Markham was the first biography to bring Beryl to light, in 1987, and her pioneering efforts and careful research have been crucial to my own and other writers' abilities to imagine Beryl's life. Mary Lovell also compiled Beryl Markham's stories in The Splendid Outcast, a collection that wouldn't have been available otherwise, and for that