We haven't the time to take our time.

We don't have time to catch up with the future that is here.

We thought nothing of running right ahead ten or a dozen miles before turning back; for we knew nothing about taking time by the sun, and none of us had a watch in those days.

Don't be mysterious; there isn't the time.

There are no spare unrecorded encapsulated moments in which we can behave 'anyhow' and then expect to resume life where we left off.

There is nowhere to arrive except the present moment.

We're so busy watching out for what's just ahead of us that we don't take time to enjoy where we are.

We run carelessly to the precipice, after we have put something before us to prevent us seeing it.

اليأس لايدع لنا سبيلا ولا وقتا للإختيار.

If we know exactly where we're going, exactly how to get there, and exactly what we'll see along the way, we won't learn anything.

Guys like us got nothing to look ahead to.

This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism.

There is no plan. All is hazard. And the only thing that will preserve us is ourselves.

The brief arc of our days,
O Sestius,
prevents us from launching
prolonged hopes.