It matters not how long we live but how.
Ask not of me, love, what is love? Ask what is good of God above; Ask of the great sun what is light; Ask what is darkness of the night; Ask sin of what may be forgiven; Ask what is happiness of heaven; Ask what is folly of the crowd; Ask what is fashion of the shroud; Ask what is sweetness of thy kiss; Ask of thyself what beauty is.
Life hath more awe than death.
Could I love less, I should be happier now.
I cannot love as I have loved, And yet I know not why; It is the one great woe of life To feel all feeling die.
Love spends his all, and still hath store.
We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not figures on a dial. We should count time by heart throbs. He most lives who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.
Life's but a means unto an end, that end, Beginning, mean, and end to all things--God.
Life is as serious a thing as death.
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