The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life: Try to be Shakespeare, leave the rest to fate!
Needs there groan a world in anguish just to teach us sympathy?
I walked a mile with Pleasure; She chattered all the way. But left me none the wiser For all she had to say. I walked a mile with Sorrow And ne'er a word said she; But oh, the things I learned from her When Sorrow walked with me!
What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?
Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat.
Therefore I summon age / To grant youth's heritage.