O suffering, sad humanity! O ye afflicted ones, who lie Steeped to the lips in misery, Longing, yet afraid to die, Patient, though sorely tried!
Henry Wadsworth LongfellowRead
A life that is worth writing at all is worth writing minutely.
Interpretation
Life experiences should be detailed and appreciated for their depth and significance.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's quote suggests that if a life is significant enough to deserve documentation, then the details of that life should be highlighted and recounted thoroughly. It emphasizes the importance of reflecting on the minutiae of our experiences, as they contribute to the richness of our personal narratives and understanding of life.
In practice
In a speech about cherishing our memories, one might say, 'As Longfellow noted, a life that is worth writing at all is worth writing minutely.'
O suffering, sad humanity! O ye afflicted ones, who lie Steeped to the lips in misery, Longing, yet afraid to die, Patient, though sorely tried!
There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together.
Perseverance is a great element of success. If you only knock long enough and loud enough at the gate, you are sure to wake up somebody.
To be seventy years old is like climbing the Alps. You reach a snow-crowned summit, and see behind you the deep valley stretching miles and miles away, and before you other summits higher and whiter, which you may have strength to climb, or may not. Then you sit down and meditate and wonder which it will be.
God is not dead; nor doth He sleep; ... _x000D_ The wrong shall fail,_x000D_ The right prevail,_x000D_ With peace on earth, good will to men.
In the long run men hit only what they aim at.
If all life moves inevitably towards its end, then we must, during our own, colour it with our colours of love and hope.
In people's eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment in June.
I think of my life as a kind of music, not always good music but still having form and melody.
One of the pitfalls about writing about illness is that it is very easy to imagine people with cancer as either these wise-beyond-their-years creatures or these sad-eyed tragic people. And the truth is, people living with cancer are very much like people who are not living with cancer. They're every bit as funny and complex and diverse as anyone else.
If you go through life, and you don't find the beauty in an unexpected place, then you really have a sad existence.
In today's world, everything seems like some sort of long audition.
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