The roads of life are strewn with the wreckage of run-down and half-finished loves.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Life is not so much about beginnings and endings as it is about going on and on and on. It is about muddling through the middle.
Life is made of ever so many partings welded together.
Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.
The road to positivity is strewn with the abandoned vehicles of the faint-hearted.
Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.
My life's a wreck, and I love it.
We are all treading the vanishing road of a song in the air, the vanishing road of the spring flowers and the winter snows, the vanishing roads of the winds and the streams, the vanishing road of beloved faces.
People are beautiful wrecks.
Dying is a wild night and a new road.
The best path through life is the highway.