We are the dead. Our only true life is in the future.
We always know which is the best road to follow, but we follow only the road that we have become accustomed to.
We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out, just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us trapped, locked in it.
Very early I knew that the only object in life was to grow.
Truth can bide its time, for it has a long life before it.
True love is rare, and it’s the only thing that gives life real meaning.
Too often the people complain that they have done nothing with their lives and then they wait for somebody to tell them that this isn’t so.
Today you are you! That is truer than true! There is no one alive who is you-er than you!
To recognise untruth as a condition of life.
To one who has enjoyed the full life of any scene, of any hour, what thoughts can be recorded about it, seem like the commas and semicolons in the paragraph, mere stops.
To look almost pretty is an acquisition of higher delight to a girl who has been looking plain the first fifteen years of her life than a beauty from her cradle can ever receive.
To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life!
