Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November; All the rest have thirty-one Excepting February alone: Which hath but twenty-eight, in fine, Till leap year gives it twenty-nine.

This is the beginning of a new day. God has given me this day to use as I will. I can waste it or use it for good, but what I do today is important, because I am exchanging a day of my life for it! When tomorrow comes, this day will be gone forever, leaving in its place something that I have traded for it. I want it to be gain, and not loss; good, and not evil; success, and not failure; in order that I shall not regret the price I have paid for it.

No one can confidently say that he will still be living tomorrow.

Who loses a day loses life.

Thrift of time will repay you in afterlife, with a usury of profit beyond your most sanguine dreams; waste of it will make you dwindle, alike in intellectual and moral stature, beyond your darkest reckoning.

Curse ruthless time! Curse our mortality. How cruelly short is the allotted span for all we must cram into it!

Time stays long enough for anyone who will use it.

Each day should be passed as though it were our last.

To live each day as though one's last, never flustered, never apathetic, never attitudinizing-here is perfection of character.

Time is the subtle thief of youth.

Time is an eternal guest that banquets on our ideals and bodies.

Time is a river without banks.