April 1. This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four..

Life would be infinitely happier if we could only be born at the age of eighty and gradually approach eighteen.

The Doors Open at 7, The trouble begins at 8.

I don't blame anybody.  I deserve it all.  Let the cold world do its worst; one thing I know—there's a grave somewhere for me. The world may go on just as it's always done, and take everything from me—loved ones, property, everything; but it can't take that. Some day I'll lie down in it and forget it all, and my poor broken heart will be at rest.

It is a time when one's spirit is subdued and sad, one knows not why; when the past seems a storm-swept desolation, life a vanity and a burden, and the future but a way to death.

It gave an appalling idea of the value of an hour, and I thought I could never waste one again without remorse and terror.

Yes, a genuine expert can always foretell a thing that is five hundred years away easier than he can a thing that's only five hundred seconds off.

We are now faced with the fact that tomorrow is today. We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now. In this unfolding conundrum of life and history, there is such a thing as being too late. This is no time for apathy or complacency. This is a time for vigorous and positive action.

We are faced with the fact, my friends, that tomorrow is today. Procrastination is still the thief of time. Over the bleached bones and jumbled residues of numerous civilizations are written the pathetic words 'Too Late'.

Oh, the worst of all tragedies is not to die young, but to live until I am seventy-five and yet not ever truly to have lived.

What matters is not how long you live…but how you live.

Time itself is neutral; it can be used either destructively or constructively