The present, like a note in music, is nothing but as it appertains to what is past and what is to come.

Each day the world is born anew For him who takes it rightly

Each day provides its own gifts.

The passing moment is all we can be sure of; it is only common sense to extract its utmost value from it; the future will one day be the present and will seem as unimportant as the present does now.

The present age is demented. It is possessed by a sense of dislocation, a loss of personal identity, an alternating sentimentality and rage which, in an individual patient, could be characterized as dementia.

The present offers itself to our touch for only an instant of time and then eludes the senses.

Past, and to come, seems best; things present, worst.

Do not say, "It is morning," and dismiss it with a name of yesterday. See it for the first time as a newborn child that has no name.

Live in to-day, but not for to-day.

This isn't just any day.