A Quote by Horace

He who postpones the hour of living is like the rustic who waits for the river to run out before he crosses. — © Horace
He who postpones the hour of living is like the rustic who waits for the river to run out before he crosses.

Quote Author

Dare to begin! He who postpones living rightly is like the rustic who waits for the river to run out before he crosses.
He who postpones the hour of living as he ought, is like the rustic who waits for the river to pass along (before he crosses); but it glides on and will glide forever. [Lat., Vivendi recte qui prorogat horam Rusticus expectat dum defluat amnis; at ille Labitur et labetur in omne volubilis aevum.]
Time itself flows on with constant motion, just like a river: for no more than a river can the fleeting hour stand still. As wave is driven on by wave, and, itself pursued, pursues the one before, so the moments of time at once flee and follow, and are ever new.
There are books so alive that you're always afraid that while you weren't reading, the book has gone and changed, has shifted like a river; while you went on living, it went on living too, and like a river moved on and moved away. No one has stepped twice into the same river. But did anyone ever step twice into the same book?
Few cross over the river. Most are stranded on this side. On the riverbank they run up and down. But the wise man, following the way, Crosses over, beyond the reach of death. He leaves the dark way For the way of light.
To our dismay, users who had been enduring several hour waits between jobs run under batch processing were suddenly restless when response times were more than a second.
The moods of a river change from hour to hour and day to day. It can be still and serene as a glassy mirror, reflecting the clouds that pass over it and the trees on its banks. Or, when a light breeze springs up, the surface of the river may be broken into little diamond lights reflecting the distant sun.
My favorite thing is to go out in the arenas, like, an hour before doors, and run the concourse. And you get that anticipation. You smell the popcorn. You see the people tapping the kegs. And nobody is in there yet but you, but you feel it. It's my favorite thing on tour.
Writing, I think, is not apart from living. Writing is a kind of double living The writer experiences everything twice. Once in reality and once in that mirror which waits always before or behind.
Writing, I think, is not apart from living. Writing is a kind of double living. The writer experiences everything twice. Once in reality and once in that mirror which waits always before or behind.
Before this century shall run out, journalism will be the whole press. Mankind will write their book day by day, hour by hour, page by page. Thought will spread abroad with the rapidity of light--instantly conceived, instantly written, instantly understood at the extremities of the earth.
In the build-up to a race I begin practising two days beforehand with two other team members. We have an hour and a half practise run together. Then on the next day we have another practise in two separate hour long sessions. On the actual day of competition we do a warm-up run in the car before the race.
A river continually fed by a living fountain may as soon end its streams before it come to the ocean, as a stop be put to the course and progress of grace before it issue in glory.
I really like rustic mediterranean cooking. And I like trying out curry takeaways.
MY river runs to thee: Blue sea, wilt welcome me? My river waits reply. Oh sea, look graciously! I ’ll fetch thee brooks From spotted nooks,— Say, sea, Take me!
I trudged around on the muddy river bottom for half an hour, patiently waiting to drown, before giving up and slogging my way back to shore.
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