There’s something about always pursuing tomorrow so you don’t have to think about today that quietly robs you of life.

I always wondered what Winston Churchill meant when he said ‘men occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of them pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing ever happened.’

The illusion that being busy is the same as being productive and realising that majoring in minor things is just noisy static that gives you an excuse for not having the courage to take your nose of the grindstone and see where you are in life.

The sea will take you everywhere and nowhere if you don’t set your own course. Anyway, it ┬áreminded me of this poem:

What is this life if, full of care,
we have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
and stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
and watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
we have no time to stand and stare.

William Henry Davies

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