Boast not thyself of to morrow; for thou knowest not what a day
may bring forth.

Boast not thyself of to morrow; for thou knowest not what a day
may bring forth.

You can become blind by seeing each day as a similar one. Each day is a different one, each day read more

You can become blind by seeing each day as a similar one. Each day is a different one, each day brings a miracle of its own. It's just a matter of paying attention to this miracle.

Day is a snow-white Dove of heaven
That from the East glad message brings.

Day is a snow-white Dove of heaven
That from the East glad message brings.

For, he that expects nothing shall not be disappointed, but he that expects much - if he lives and uses read more

For, he that expects nothing shall not be disappointed, but he that expects much - if he lives and uses that in hand day by day - shall be full to running over.

Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth
knowledge.

Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth
knowledge.

Don't look forward to the day you stop suffering, because when it comes you'll know you're dead.

Don't look forward to the day you stop suffering, because when it comes you'll know you're dead.

Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!
Look to this Day! For it is Life,
The very read more

Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!
Look to this Day! For it is Life,
The very Life of Life.
In its brief course lie all the Varieties
And Realities of your Existence;
The Bliss of Growth,
The Glory of Action,
The Splendor of Beauty;
For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And Tomorrow is only a Vision;
But Today well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every Tomorrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day!
Such is the Salutation of Dawn.

Every day may not be good... but there's something good in every day.

Every day may not be good... but there's something good in every day.

Daughter of Time, the hypocrite Days,
Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an read more

Daughter of Time, the hypocrite Days,
Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an endless file,
Bring diadems and fagots in their hands;
To each they offer gifts after his will,
Bread, kingdom, stars, and sky that holds them all;
I, in my pleached garden watched the pomp
Forgot my morning wishes, hastily
Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day
Turned and departed silent. I too late
Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.