When people ask for time, it’s always for time to say no. Yes has one more letter in it, but it doesn’t take half as long to say.
The trouble with dawn is that it comes too early in the day.
Sunday is the day people go quietly mad, one way or another.
Each day is a little life: every waking and rising a little birth, every fresh morning a little youth, every going to rest and sleep a little death.
Those that dare lose a day are dangerously prodigal; those that dare misspend it, desperate.
The feeling of Sunday is the same everywhere, heavy, melancholy, standing still. Like when they say, “As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.”
One of the illusions of life is that the present hour is not the critical, decisive hour. Write it on your heart that every day is the best day of the year.
To be seeing the world made new every morning, as if it were the morning of the first day, and then to make the most of it for the individual soul, as if it were the last day – is the daily curriculum of the mind’s desire.
Live not one’s life as though one had a thousand years, but live each day as the last.
Why should we live with such hurry and waste of life? We are determined to be starved before we are hungry. Men say that a stitch in time saves nine, and so they take a thousand stitches today to save nine tomorrow.