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Let us live then, and be glad While young life's before us After youthful pastime had, After old age had and sad, Earth will slumber over us.

Life is an uncharted ocean. The cautious mariner must needs take Many soundings ere he conduct his barque to port in safety.

Live fast, die young, leave a good-looking corpse.

Life's but a span, or a tale, or a word, That in a trice, or suddaine, is rehearsed.

If you will do some deed before you die, Remember not this caravan of death, But have belief that every little breath Will stay with you for an eternity.

I don't want to get to the end of my life and find that I lived just the length of it. I want to have lived the width of it as well.

The Answer to the Great Question Of . . . Life, the Universe and Everything . . . Forty-two.

Ofttimes the test of courage becomes rather to live than to die.

I know not if the dark or bright Shall be by lot; If that wherein my hopes delight Be best or not.

Every man's life is a fairy-tale written by God's fingers.

Enjoy life. There's plenty of time to be dead.

Life is like a beautiful melody, only the lyrics are messed up.

And by a prudent flight and cunning save A life which valour could not, from the grave. A better buckler I can soon regain, But who can get another life again?

There is a cropping-time in the races of men, as in the fruits of the field; and sometimes, if the stock be good, there springs up for a time a succession of splendid men; and then comes a period of barrenness.

Life, which all creatures love and strive to keep Wonderful, dear and pleasant unto each, Even to the meanest; yea, a boon to all Where pity is, for pity makes the world Soft to the weak and noble for the strong.

We are the voices of the wandering wind, Which moan for rest and rest can never find; Lo! as the wind is so is mortal life, A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.

With aching hands and bleeding feet We dig and heap, lay stone on stone; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish 'twere done. Not till the hours of light return All we have built as we discern.

This strange disease of modern life, With its sick hurry, its divided aims.

Saw life steadily and saw it whole.

Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome.