Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
Everybody deserves to have something good in their life. At least once.
We can never know what to want, because, living only one life, we can neither compare it with our previous lives nor perfect it in our lives to come.
A life wasn’t for anything. It simply was.
Sometimes your life changes so slowly and imperceptibly that you don't notice it at all until one day you wake up and think, 'How did I get here?' But other times, life changes in an instant with a lightning stroke of good or bad luck with glorious or tragic consequences.
She wants to live for once. But doesn’t know quite what that means.
The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become.
Life is far too important a thing to talk seriously about.
I think life too complex a thing to be settled by these hard and fast rules.
But it is a corrupting thing to live one's real life in secret. One should live with the stream of life, not against it
Human life, we must assume in the first place, is somewhat more important than anything else in human life, except, possibly, what happens to it.
He was always struggling to be different, even when it didn’t matter. It was as if he was performing his life instead of living his life.
Anyone can nurture a myth about their life if they have enough manure.
Ah, what is the life of a human being—a drop of dew, a flash of lightning?
It seemed both proper and at the same time deeply unfair that so much of life was left to chance.
If you don’t hurry up and let life know what you want, life will damned soon show you what you’ll get.
Life is hell anyway, but if there is any fun to be got out of it you’re only a god-damn fool if you don’t get it.
This is one of the cruelties of the theatre of life; we all think of ourselves as stars and rarely recognize it when we are indeed mere supporting characters.
A man sometimes devotes his life to a desire which he is not sure will ever be fulfilled. Those who laugh at this folly are, after all, no more than mere spectators of life.
I held that life was a ferment, a yeasty something which devoured life that it might live, and that living was merely successful piggishness.