Wrong life cannot be lived rightly.

In a sentence: Life is bad, but so is death. Of course, life is not bad in every way. Neither is death bad in every way. However, both life and death are, in crucial respects, awful. Together, they constitute an existential vise—the wretched grip that enforces our predicament.

It hath been often said, that it is not death, but dying which is terrible.

Sin is man's destruction. Only the rust of sin can consume the soul-or eternally destroy it. For here indeed is the remarkable thing from which already that simple wise man of olden time derived a proof of the immortality of the soul, that the sickness of the soul (sin) is not like bodily sickness which kills the body. Sin is not a passage-way which a man has to pass through once, for from it one shall flee; sin is not (like suffering) the instant, but an eternal fall from the eternal, hence it is not ‘once’, and it cannot possibly be that its ‘once’ is no time. No, just as between the rich man in hell and Lazarus in Abraham's bosom there was a yawning gulf fixed, so is there also a yawning distinction between suffering and sin. Let us not confuse it, lest talk about suffering might become less frank-hearted, because it had also sin in mind, and this less frank-hearted talk might be boldly impudent inasmuch as it is talking this way about sin. This precisely is the Christian position, that there is this infinite distinction between evil and evil, as they are confusedly named; this precisely is the Christian characteristic, to talk of temporal sufferings ever more and more frank-heartedly, more triumphantly, more joyfully, because Christianity regarded, sin, and sin only, is destructive.

For the life it leads is dark with evil, sunk in manifold death. It sees no longer what the soul should see. It can no longer rest within itself but is forever being dragged towards the external, the lower, the dark.

A human soul devoid of longing was a soul deformed, deprived of its highest good, sick unto death.

Life defined only as the opposite of death is not life.

An evil and foolish and intemperate and irreligious life should not be called a bad life, but rather, dying long drawn out.

Immorality and surliness makes the human's life miserable and bitter.

Life without meaning, hope, and love breeds a coldhearted, mean-spirited outlook that destroys the individual and others.

"The tragedy of life is not death, the tragedy of life is what dies in one when still alive".

The soul is a terrible reality. It can be bought and sold and bartered away.

Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The greatest tragedy in life is not death, but a life without a purpose.