Life Is Precious Quotes の小説・ストーリー

Thomas roared, "The price! What's her starting price?!" "At least five hundred thousand dollars!" he exclaimed, laughing hysterically, "she is a one-of-a-kind treasure!" Thomas laughed viciously, then sighed, looking at me with a cold grin. "It looks like we will have to let your friend live a little longer," he stated, then walked closer and leaned over me. "Let's hope that the expert is right. Bring us a lot of money and don't let me regret saving a meaningless life." "Her life isn't meaningless!" I squeezed through my clenched teeth.

"As much as I want to do this, I won't. I would never attacked an unarmed opponent and I would never scorn a worthy opponent" "You really are something else Lucius, even at this point you choose such sentiments knowing fully well that you would be dead already if the roles were reversed. " I do, all life is precious. It doesn't matter if it is friend or foe, besides you are mortally wounded so I will give you your final moments. At the very least you deserve that", Lucius said. Argon laughed a bit as he remembered his father. He remembered his father used to tell him that all life was precious.

“Besides, I like eating. I didn’t get to enjoy these things in the past. It feels good to eat whatever I want now.” “Is that so?” I picked up a sugar packet and toyed with it between my fingers. “Life is too short not to enjoy yourself, don’t you think? One moment you are alive and the next you are not. How ironic.” Theodore watched me strangely, "Oh, sorry, I must have been saying something foolish again," I said, shaking my head. "I'm a doctor. I've watched too many people die in front of me. Life is precious, Mr. Theodore, use it well."

I go still, holding back my protests as I hear his muffled voice through the fabric. “My wife is more valuable than any object- foolish little flower. A token of love is precious, but a life is priceless. You are far more important to me.”

He and I turn red in embarrassment, but nonetheless, he turns to me and wimnks an eye with a bright smile. I giggle, glancing at the quotes and sure of who wrote them. I silently turn my body to see him. The smile on my face making him turn red as he averts his sight between me and the teacher. He clears his throat and runs his hands against the side of his pants. "Ahem! Of course." He sighs and stands straight to read out loud. "No matter what happens, enjoy life because you only get one and it doesn't last long. . . . .-Epicurus." He smirks and squints his eye at me, making me roll my eyes and turn to face him.

N'DJAMENA, CHAD. "Treasure what you have, time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grief, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, Time is Eternity. For all you out there with someone special in your heart, cherish that person, cherish every moment that you spend together that special someone, for in life, anything can happen anytime. You may painfully regret, only to realize that it is too late. Do not value the things you have in your life. But value who you have in your life."

"Oneida is precious to the Host." "I beg to differ," I regarded her with a quirky smirk. "Every life is precious. When you start weighing a person's life before you chose to save it, you have lost much more than that split second -- you have lost a piece of your soul." Oh look. I was lecturing them and they didn't like it.

Money can never stop you from dying if it's your time to die. Time is the most precious thing one could and should treasure the most because our life is just a passing moment. A time will come where we are all buried into the ground, lifeless. No matter what status you have, color, kind, or character. We all grow old, feel pain, get hurt, feel happy, fail, succeed, and die.

Her eyes were swollen, her hands trembling as she held tightly to the folded handkerchief. She had cried until there was nothing left to pour out, yet the tears still came, silently, endlessly. The priest, a tall man with a gentle yet commanding voice, stood before the casket. His voice carried through the crowd as he began the sermon. “Life,” he said, pausing briefly as the wind brushed through his white robe, “is like a candle. It burns bright and gives warmth, but eventually, it flickers out. And when it does, it leaves behind memories — the true mark of who we were and how we lived.”

"Why don't you see if anything speaks to you?" I wander through the narrow aisles, breathing in the scent of old paper and ink. My fingers trail across familiar names—Plath, Oliver, Neruda—poets I used to know by heart. I pull out a slim volume of Mary Oliver's work and flip to a random page: "Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"