He who postpones the hour of living is like the rustic who waits for the river to run out before he crosses.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Those who stand at the threshold of life always waiting for the right time to change are like the man who stands at the bank of a river waiting for the water to pass so he can cross on dry land.
It is only in appearance that time is a river. It is rather a vast landscape and it is the eye of the beholder that moves.
All rivers, even the most dazzling, those that catch the sun in their course, all rivers go down to the ocean and drown. And life awaits man as the sea awaits the river.
There comes a time in a man's life when to get where he has to go - if there are no doors or windows he walks through a wall.
Every rustic who delivers in the village alehouse his slow, infrequent sentences, may help to kill or keep alive the fatal superstitions which clog his race.
Everything comes to him who hustles while he waits.
Life is a pilgrimage. The wise man does not rest by the roadside inns. He marches direct to the illimitable domain of eternal bliss, his ultimate destination.
What time he can spare from the adornment of his person he devotes to the neglect of his duties.
He, who every morning plans the transactions of the day, and follows that plan, carries a thread that will guide him through a labyrinth of the most busy life.
The dog lives for the day, the hour, even the moment.
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