Quotes
Quotes about Day
Yesterday is a canceled check: Forget it. Tomorrow is a promissory note: Don't count on it. Today is ready cash: Use it!
Many are always praising the by-gone time, for it is natural that the old should extol the days of their youth; the weak, the time of their strength; the sick, the season of their vigor; and the disappointed, the spring-tide of their hopes.
The second day of July, 1776, will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of the continent to the other, from this time forward forevermore.
There were his young barbarians all at play There was their Dacian mother--he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday.
And that was the way The deuce was to pay As it always is, at the close of the day That gave us-- Hurray! Hurray! Hurray! (With some restrictions, the fault-finders say) That which, please God, we will keep for aye Our National Independence!
The holiest of all holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart, When the full river of feeling overflows;-- The happy days unclouded to their close; The sudden joys that our of darkness start As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart Like swallows singing down each wind that blows!
Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in holiday humor and like enough to consent.
If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work; And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.
You sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary, Come hither from the furrow and be merry. Make holiday: your rye-straw hats put on, And these fresh nymphs encounter every one In country footing.
Time for work,--yet take Much holiday for art's and friendship's sake.
The whitewash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door; The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day.
What if in Scotland's wilds we viel'd our head, Where tempests whistle round the sordid bed; Where the rug's two-fold use we might display, By night a blanket, and a plaid by day.
A man builds a fine house; and now he has a master, and a task for life: he is to furnish, watch, show it, and keep it in repair, the rest of his days.
Construed as turf, home just seems a provisional claim, a designation you make upon a place, not one it makes on you. A certain set of buildings, a glimpsed, smudged window-view across a schoolyard, a musty aroma sniffed behind a garage when you were a child, all of which come crowding in upon your latter-day sensesâthose are pungent things and vivid, even consoling. But to me they are also inert and nostalgic and unlikely to connect you to the real, to that essence art can sometimes achieve, which is permanence.
If I were asked to name the chief benefit of the house, I should say: the house shelters day-dreaming, the house protects the dreamer, the house allows one to dream in peace.
Turn you to the strong hold, ye prisoners of hope: even to day do I declare that I will render double unto thee; When I have bent Judah for me, filled the bow with Ephraim, and raised up thy sons, O Zion, against thy sons, O Greece, and made thee as the sword of a mighty man.
Ah, Hope! what would life be, stripped of thy encouraging smiles, that teach us to look behind the dark clouds of to-day, for the golden beams that are to gild the morrow.
When the heart is enlivened again, it feels like the sun coming out after a week of rainy days. There is hope in the heart that chases the clouds away. Hope is a higher heart frequency and as you begin to reconnect with your heart, hope is waiting to show you new possibilities and arrest the downward spiral of grief and loneliness. It becomes a matter of how soon you want the sun to shine. Listening to the still, small voice in your heart will make hope into a reality. Sara Paddison, The Hidden Power of the Heart Hope is a higher heart frequency, and as you begin to re-connect with your heart, hope is waiting to show you new possibilities and arrest the downward spiral of grief and loneliness. Listening to the still small voice in your heart will make hope into a reality. Benjamin Franklin, preface, Poor Richard's Almanac, 1758 He that lives upon hope will die fasting. -Sara Paddison.
He kept no Christmas-house for once a yeere, Each day his boards were fild with Lordly fare; He fed a rout of yeoman with his cheer, Nor was his bread and beefe kept in with care; His wine and beere to strangers were not spare, And yet beside to all that hunger greved, His gates were open, and they were there relived.
No one can be so welcome a guest that he will not become an annoyance when he has stayed three continuous days in a friend's house. [Lat., Hospes nullus tam in amici hospitium diverti potest, Quin ubi triduum continuum fuerit jam odiosus siet.]
The first day a guest, the second day a guest, the third day a calamity.
The important thing about women today is, as they get older, they still keep house. It's one reason why they don't die, but men die when they retire. Women just polish the teacups.
Few tasks are more like the torture of Sisyphus than housework, with its endless repetition: the clean becomes soiled, the soiled is made clean, over and over, day after day.
If I lived back in the wild west days, instead of carrying a six-gun in my holster, I'd carry a soldering iron. That way, if some smart-aleck cowboy said something like 'Hey, look. He's carrying a soldering iron!' and started laughing, and everybody else started laughing, I could just say, 'That's right, it's a soldering iron. The soldering iron of justice.' Then everybody would get real quiet and ashamed, because they had made fun of the soldering iron of justice.
