Seneca the Younger Quotes

Life, as it is called, is for most of us one long postponement.

If you wait, all that happens is that you get older.

How did it get so late so soon? Its night before its afternoon. December is here before its June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?

Time flies never to be recalled.

Just sitting around waiting for my life to begin, while it was all just slipping away.

I often feel that life is about to begin, only to realize it is almost over.

While we are postponing, life speeds by.

My work is about my life as an event, and I find myself to be very temporal, transient.

Life doesn't last; art doesn't last. It doesn't matter.

The most life destroying word of all is the word tomorrow.

If we wait until we're ready, we'll be waiting for the rest of our lives.

Time slips through our hands like grains of sand, never to return again.

Nothing lasts forever but we always try, and I just can't help but wonder why we let it pass us by

Life is what you do while you're waiting to die... Life is how the time goes by

When you're young, you always feel that life hasn't yet begun—that "life" is always scheduled to begin next week, next month, next year, after the holidays—whenever. But then suddenly you're old and the scheduled life didn't arrive. You find yourself asking, 'Well then, exactly what was it I was having—that interlude—the scrambly madness—all that time I had before?

Everything comes too late for those who only wait.

Time just gets away from us.

But when to-morrow comes, yesterday's morrow will have been already spent: and lo! a fresh morrow will be for ever making away with our years, each just beyond our grasp.

The last moments slipped by, one by one, irretrievable.

We mourn the transitory things and fret under the yoke of the immutable ones.

The time to begin most things is ten years ago.

Some people spend the whole of their lives sitting waiting for one train, only to find that they never even made it to the station.

Her life-that was the only chance she had-the short season between two silences.