Life (n.) is a course that nature lets us run but in one way, and only once.
Life (n.) draws to its end by slow and imperceptible degrees: there is no sudden breakage; it just slowly goes out.
Life (n.) is a drama to be played to its end, without breaking down in the last act like an unpractised player.
Life (n.) does not always turn sour from keeping, any more than every wine does.
Life (n.) that remains to the old is not to be grasped at with greedy eagerness, nor abandoned without cause.
Life (n.) offers labour rather than blessing, and whatever blessing it has has a limit, either to enjoyment or to existence.
Life (n.) is an inn, not a home: nature has given us a place of entertainment, not of residence.