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Updated: May 25, 2025
For he did not think of the tortures he prepared for his anxiously hoping wife. Why did he thirst for death since he knew that he must not die? Not yet. Ah, not yet! Now that suddenly a whole, long, unlived life lay between them a life they had never even suspected. She could not name it, this new, rich life, but she felt it approaching, day by day.
That there are certain premises, from which the tenor of a yet unlived life can be more or less accurately anticipated, no one will deny.
The colour between the velvet of her close-set lashes the remembrance of her curious splendid blush made the man's lost and unlived youth come back to him. What did it matter whether she was American or English what did it matter whether she was insolently rich or beggarly poor? He would let himself go and forget all but the pleasure of the sight and hearing of her.
Oh, Effie, I don't want to be a ministering angel any more I want to be uncertain, coy and hard to please. I want something dazzling and unaccountable to happen to me something new and unlived and indescribable!" She snatched herself with a laugh from the bewildered Effie, and flinging up her arms again, spun on a light heel across the polished floor. "Well, then," murmured Mrs.
And surely if we deduct all those days of our life which we might wish unlived, and which abate the comfort of those we now live, if we reckon up only those days which God hath accepted of our lives, a life of good years will hardly be a span long; the son in this sense may outlive the father, and none be climacterically old.
If no such awakening supervenes, since we never live in the present, we are always looking forward to what never comes; and so life slips by, unlived. If my child was taken from me, it meant that my future was made meaningless. I felt that I might just as well lie down and die. There was injustice in this, I know I was reasoning, as it were, in a phantom world.
They lie in a little corner and nobody comes to them!" It's a Jewish play called "The Dead Man" and every night in Glickman's Palace Theater on Blue Island Avenue a thousand men and women sit with staring eyes and watch this figure in its grave-clothes come dragging back like a tired beggar, come moaning back with the cry: "My unlived days! My uneaten bread! My uncounted years!"
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