| Amount of texts to »life« | 141, and there are 135 texts (95.74%) with a rating above the adjusted level (-3) |
| Average lenght of texts | 111 Characters |
| Average Rating | 3.652 points, 23 Not rated texts |
| First text | on May 19th 2000, 10:15:44 wrote Pat about life |
| Latest text | on Nov 1st 2015, 09:10:02 wrote carolyn stewart about life |
| Some texts that have not been rated at all
(overall: 23) |
on Jul 13th 2009, 23:34:16 wrote
on Apr 6th 2004, 04:21:23 wrote
on Jan 8th 2001, 13:04:50 wrote |
My Life Closed Twice Before it Closed
by Emily Dickinson
My life closed twice before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me,
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.
»Live all you can; it's a mistake not to. It doesn't so much matter what you do in particular, so long as you have your life. If you haven't had that what HAVE you had?«
Henry James
The Ambassadors
Life is no brief candle to me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.
(George Bernard Shaw)
When it comes time to cash in that Ninth Life, I hope I will be in the sea. Man is a fish in exile. To become part of a kaleidoscopically dazzling coral reef certainly seems preferable to becoming food for worms in a city cemetery or burning in a crematory oven for an hour and a half.
Living on earth is expensive, but it does include a free trip around the sun.
Is there any intelligent life on earth?
Yes, but I am only visiting.
The best use of life is to spend it for something that outlasts life.
William James
It is a common saying, and in everybody’s mouth, that life is but a sojourn.
--Plato.
Life does not cease to be funny when people die
any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh.
George Bernard Shaw
LIFE! I know not what thou art,
But know that thou and I must part;
And when, or how, or where we met,
I own to me 's a secret yet.
But this I know, when thou art fled,
Where'er they lay these limbs, this head,
No clod so valueless shall be
As all that then remains of me.
---------- Anna Lætitia Barbauld. 1743–1825
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