Life’s enchanted cup sparkles near the brim.
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- Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon’s verge.
- It is very certain that the desire of life prolongs it.
- When one subtracts from life infancy (which is vegetation), sleep, eating and swilling, buttoning and unbuttoning — how much remains of downright existence? The summer of a dormouse.
- There is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in such a state?
- For in itself a thought, a slumbering thought, is capable of years, and curdles a long life into one hour.
- What a strange thing is the propagation of life! A bubble of seed which may be spilt in a whore’s lap, or in the orgasm of a voluptuous dream, might (for aught we know) have formed a Caesar or a Bonaparte — there is nothing remarkable recorded of their sires, that I know of.