Life (n.) is hardly worth living if it lacks the repose that is found in the mutual goodwill of a friend.
Life (n.) can never be anything but joyless without the consolations and companionship of friends.
Life (n.) has to be conducted in a certain fixed way, as an actor or dancer is assigned not any part he likes but a particular part or dance.
Life (n.) is judged by its largest part: a crop of corn is not poor because a single stalk of wild oat can be spied in it.
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.
Life (n.) as we have it is really death; only when freed from the bonds of the body shall we begin to live.
Life (n.) is lent us by nature as she might lend money, with no fixed day of repayment; we cannot complain when she recalls it.
Life (n.) should keep the Greek rule of the banquet — drink, or leave the company — and the injuries of fortune you cannot bear, you should flee.