Life is made of ever so many partings welded together.
Life is like that first game of chess. By the time you begin to understand how the pieces move, you’ve already lost.
Life is like a train, Mademoiselle. It goes on. And it is a good thing that that is so.
Life is just life. We live, we die, we go to the corpse hall. There is no music, just chance. Fate is relentless.
Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent.
Life is filled with secrets. You can’t learn them all at once.
Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about it.
Life is essentially the concept which realises itself only through self-division and reunification.
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.
Life is an awful, ugly place to not have a best friend.
Life is always a rich and steady time when you are waiting for something to happen or to hatch.
Life is all memory, except for the one present moment that goes by you so quick you hardly catch it going.
