Yea, all things live for ever, though at times they sleep and are forgotten. — Henry Rider Haggard

And now let us love and take that which is given us, and be happy; for in the grave there is no love and no warmth, nor any touching of the lips. Nothing perchance, or perchance bitter memories of what might have been.

[T]hinking can only serve to measure out the helplessness of thought.

Truly time should be measured by events, and not by the lapse of hours.