A Quote by Mikhail Bulgakov
He who never hurries is always on time.
Related Quotes
He who hurries through life hurries to his grave.
Time hurries by, we're here and gone.
He never hurries. He never shows his cards. He always hangs up first....Like when we first started talking on the phone, he would always be the one who got off first. When we kissed, he always pulled away first. He always kept me just on the edge of crazy. Feeling like I wanted him too much, which just made me want him more....[It was] excruciating and wonderful. It feels good to want something that bad. I thought about him the way you think about dinner when you haven't eaten for a day and a half. Like you'd sell your soul for it.
Guilt always hurries towards its complement, punishment: only there does its satisfaction lie.
Guilt always hurries towards its complement, punishment; only there does its satisfaction lie.
One always hurries towards happiness, Monsieur Danglars, because when one has suffered much, one is at pains to believe in it.
Terror of being found out is not always a preservative, it sometimes hurries on the act which it ought to prevent.
Baldwin often times stumbles over the truth, but he always picks himself up and hurries on as if nothing had happened.
Nature is very un-American. Nature never hurries.
Fixing our thoughts on Jesus requires time, for true reflection cannot happen with a glance. No one can see the beauty of the country if he hurries through it on the interstate.
God never hurries. There are no deadlines against which he must work. Only to know this is to quiet our spirits and relax our nerves.
One hurries through, even though there's time; the past, the continent, is behind; the future is the glowing mouth in the side of the ship; the dim, turbulent alley is too confusedly the present.
Our lives ... are but a little while, so let them run as sweetly as you can, and give no thought to grief from day to day. For time is not concerned to keep our hopes, but hurries on its business, and is gone.
The man who saves time by galloping loses it by missing his way; the shepherd who hurries his flock to get them home spends the night on the mountain looking for the lost; economy does not consist in haste, but in certainty.
the days, and the months, and the years, pass so swiftly, that I can no longer retain them. Time, in its flight, hurries me away, in spite of myself; in vain I endeavor to stop him, he drags me along: the thought of this alarms me.
Have you ever noticed that Jesus is never recorded as taking a holiday? He retired for the purposes of his mission, not from it. He was never destroyed by his work; he was always on top of it. He moved among people as the master of every situation. He was busier than anyone; the multitudes were always at him, yet he had time, for everything and everyone. He was never hurried, or harassed, or too busy. He had complete supremacy over time; he never let it dictate to him. He talked of my time; my hour. He knew exactly when the moment had come for doing something and when it had not.
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