“Life is not lost by dying; life is lost minute by minute, day by dragging day, in all the thousand, small, uncaring ways.”

La vie est jeune. En vieillissant, elle se fait durée, elle se fait temps, elle se fait adieu. Elle vous a tout pris, et elle n'a plus rien à vous donner.

La vie la plus courte et la plus remuante échoit à ceux qui oublient leur passé, négligent leur présent, redoutent l'avenir : quand la dernière extrémité est venue, ces malheureux comprennent trop tard qu'ils ont cru tout le temps, alors qu'ils ne faisaient rien, avoir été occupés. N'espère pas démontrer qu'ils vivent une longue

What man can you show me who places any value on his time, who reckons the worth of each day, who understands that he is dying daily? For we are mistaken when we look forward to death; the major portion of death has already passed. Whatever years be behind us are in death's hands.

The scenes of our life are like pictures in rough mosaic, which have no effect at close quarters, but must be looked at from a distance in order to discern their beauty. So that to obtain something we have desired is to find out that it is worthless; we are always living in expectation of better things, while, at the same time, we often repent and

The people who have lost love know that you can lose things you never really had,

And are you not ashamed, Socrates, of a course of life which is likely to bring you to an untimely end? To him I may fairly answer: There you are mistaken: a man who is good for anything ought not to calculate the chance of living or dying; he ought only to consider whether in doing anything he is doing right or wrong—acting the part of a good man