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.
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.
Life hath more awe than death.
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 is as serious a thing as death.
Life's but a means unto an end, that end, Beginning, mean, and end to all things--God.
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