Life

Remember, Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.

Golf is like a love affair. If you don't take it seriously, it's no fun; if you do take it seriously, it breaks your heart.

Think of the long view of life, not just what's going to happen today or tomorrow. Don't give up what you most want in life for something you think you want now.

Love is the flower of life, and blossoms unexpectedly and without law, and must be plucked where it is found, and enjoyed for the brief hour of its duration.

I make the most of all that comes and the least of all that goes.

 

Life is short and we never have enough time for gladdening the hearts of those who travel the way with us. Oh, be swift to love! Make haste to be kind.

To know how to grow old is the masterwork of wisdom, and one of the most difficult chapters in the great art of living.

The living self has one purpose only: to come into its own fullness of being, as a tree comes into full blossom, or a bird into spring beauty, or a tiger into luster.

Eating and reading are two pleasures that combine admirably.

Term, holidays, term, holidays, till we leave school, and then work, work, work till we die.

If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.

A WOMAN HAS TO LIVE HER LIFE, OR LIVE TO REPENT NOT HAVING LIVED IT.

Life is ours to be spent, not to be saved.

Death is the end of life; ah, why

 

For men may come and men may go,

 

Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus.

 

Wayfarer, there is no way, you make the way as you go. As you go, you make the way and stopping to look behind, you see the path that your feet will never travel again. Wayfarer, there is no way— only foam trails in the sea.

 

Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower—but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is.

 

For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.

 

So many worlds, so much to do, So little done, such things to be.

 

So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life.

 

And Time, a maniac scattering dust, And Life, a Fury slinging flame.

 

I do but sing because I must, And pipe but as the linnets sing.

 

Death closes all: but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.