Don't save something for a special occasion. Every day of your life is a special occasion.

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Sometimes I think my life is nothing but one long process of bodily betrayal.

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Life a miserable contradiction, endless desire but limited supplies, your birth just a ticket to your death.

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And this is the strangest of all paradoxes of the human adventure; we live inside all experience, but we are permitted to bear witness only to the outside. Such is the riddle of life and the story of the passing of our days.

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The years, the months, the days, and the hours have flown by my open window. Here and there an incident, a towering moment, a naked memory, an etched countenance, a whisper in the dark, a golden glow these and much more are the woven fabric of the time I have lived.

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One's life has value so long as one attributes value to the life of others, by means of love, friendship, and compassion.

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I am awfully greedy; I want everything from life. I want to be a woman and to be a man, to have many friends and to have loneliness, to work much and write good books, to travel and enjoy myself, to be selfish and to be unselfish� You see, it is difficult to get all which I want. And then when I do not succeed I get mad with anger.

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Life seems but a quick succession of busy nothings.

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The weight of the world is on our shoulders, its vision is through our eyes; if we blink or look aside, or turn back to finger what Plato said or remember Napoleon and his conquests, we inflict on the world the injury of some obliquity. This is life...

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For while directly we say that it [the length of human life] is ages long, we are reminded that it is briefer than the fall of a rose leaf to the ground.

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