It is not in giving life but in risking his life that man raises himself above the animal; this is why throughout humanity, superiority has been granted not to the sex that gives birth but to the one that kills.
It is not for me to judge another person’s life. Only for myself alone, I must decide, I must chose, I must refuse.
It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life that it purloined.
It is a hard thing to leave any deeply routined life, even if you hate it.
It is a corrupting thing to live one’s real life in secret. One should live with the stream of life, not against it.
It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.
Is not life a hundred times too short for us — to bore ourselves?
In what life can I trust anything out of your mouth ever again?
In town a man can live for a hundred years without noticing that he has long been dead and has rotted away.[В городе человек может прожить сто лет и не хватиться того, что он давно умер и сгнил.]
In the midst of life we are in death.
In the midst of death we are in life.
In the long run, we shape our lives, and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility.
