For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.... [A]ccept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields....

Flight from life does not exempt us from the law of age and death. The neurotic who tries to wriggle out of the necessity of living wins nothing and only burdens himself with a constant foretaste of aging and dying, which must appear especially cruel on account of the total emptiness and meaninglessness of his life.

When the 30-year-old lawyer died he said to St. Peter, "How can you do this to me? - a heart attack at my age? I'm only 30." Replied St. Peter: "When we looked at your total hours billed we figured you were 95."

Life is action and passion; therefore, it is required of a man that he should share the passion and action of the time, at peril of being judged not to have lived.

At any given moment life is completely senseless. But viewed over a period, it seems to reveal itself as an organism existing in time, having a purpose, tending in a certain direction.

Do not worry; eat three square meals a day; say your prayers; be courteous to your creditors; keep your digestion good; exercise; go slow and easy. Maybe there are other things your special case requires to make you happy, but my friend, these I reckon will give you a good life.

If cold December gave you birth, The month of snow and ice and mirth, Place on your hand a turquoise blue, Success will bless what'er you do.

Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November; All the rest have thirty-one Excepting February alone: Which hath but twenty-eight, in fine, Till leap year gives it twenty-nine.

No one can confidently say that he will still be living tomorrow.

Thrift of time will repay you in afterlife, with a usury of profit beyond your most sanguine dreams; waste of it will make you dwindle, alike in intellectual and moral stature, beyond your darkest reckoning.

Curse ruthless time! Curse our mortality. How cruelly short is the allotted span for all we must cram into it!