Character develops itself in the stream of life.
Life is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.
Shrinking away from death is something unhealthy and abnormal which robs the second half of life of its purpose.
This is the truth: as from a fire aflame thousands of sparks come forth, even so from the Creator an infinity of beings have life and to him return again.
The world has grown suspicious of anything that looks like a happily married life.
Caught up in life, you see it badly. You suffer from it or enjoy it too much. The artist, in my opinion, is a monstrosity, something outside of nature.
Life swings like a pendulum backward and forward between pain and boredom.
A useless life is an early death.
