It is never too<b> late to be what you might have been
Between too early and too<b> late, there is never more than a moment.
Solicitude about the future never profits; we feel no evil till it comes; and when we feel it, no counsel= (_Rath_) =helps us; wisdom is always too early or too<b> late.
Galeatum sero duelli p?nitet=--After donning the helmet it is too<b> late to repent of war,
~Afflictions.~--Before an affliction is digested, consolation comes too soon; and after it is digested, it comes too<b> late; but there is a mark between these two, as fine, almost, as a hair, for a comforter to take aim at.--_Sterne._
The wished-for comes too<b> late.
Serum auxilium post pr?lium=--Help comes too<b> late when the fight is over.
Our world is in profound danger. Mankind must establish a set of positive values with which to secure its own survival. This quest for enlightenment must begin now. It is essential that all men and women become aware of what they are, why they are here on Earth and what they must do to preserve civilization before it is too<b> late.
Man is his own star, and the soul that can Render an honest and a perfect man Commands all light, all influence, all fate. Nothing to him falls early, or too<b> late. Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.
The future is now. It's time to grow up and be strong. Tomorrow may well be too<b> late.
Taking one’s chances is like taking a bath, because sometimes you end up feeling comfortable and warm, and sometimes there is something terrible lurking around that you cannot see until it is too<b> late and you can do nothing else but scream and cling to a plastic duck.
~Irritability.~--Irritability urges us to take a step as much too soon as sloth does too<b> late.--_Cecil._
There is nothing in life like a mother's love, though children often do not find it out till it is too<b> late. If you want to be really happy in life, love your mother with all your heart; it is a blessing to feel that you belong to her, and that through her you are connected by an unbroken chain with the highest source of our being.
Haste turns usually on a matter of ten minutes too<b> late.
There is a large and secret brotherhood in this world, the members of which easily recognise each other, without any visible outward sign. It is the band of mourners. The members of this brotherhood need not necessarily wear mourning; they can even rejoice with the joyful, and they seldom sigh or weep when others see them. But they recognise and understand each other, without uttering a word, like tired wanderers who, climbing a steep mountain, overtake other tired wanderers, and pause, and then silently go on again, knowing that they all hope to see the same glorious sunset high up above. Their countenances reflect a soft moonlight; when they speak, one thinks of the whispering of the leaves of a beech forest after a warm spring shower, and as the rays of the sun light up the drops of dew with a thousand colours, and drink them up from the green grass, a heavenly light seems to shine through the tears of the mourners, to lighten them, and lovingly kiss them away. Almost every one, sooner or later, enters this brotherhood, and those who enter it early may be considered fortunate, for they learn, before it is too<b> late, that _all_ which man calls his own is only lent him for a short time, and the ivy of their affections does not cling so deeply and so strongly to the old walls of earthly happiness.
Nobody will use other people's experience, nor has any of his own till it is too<b> late to use it.
Kartenspiel ist des Teufels Gebetsbuch=--A pack of cards is the devil's prayer-book. _Ger. Pr._ [Greek: Kat' exochen]--By way of excellence; pre-eminently. [Greek: Katopin heores]--After the feast; too<b> late. [Greek: Katthane kai Patroklos, hoper seo pollon ameinon]--Even Patroclus is dead, who was much better than thou.
Principiis obsta; sero medicina paratur, / Cum mala per longas convaluere moras=--Resist the first beginnings; a cure is attempted too<b> late when through long delay the malady has waxed strong.
It is never too<b> late to be what you might have been.
one day you will wake up, you will see with clear sight all that has held you back; you will feel lighter because you finally accept who you are. You will shine with flawless beauty because your happiness comes from the purity of your heart and one day I hope you realise all of this, before it's too<b> late; because darling, if we spent our years nurturing the best of ourselves, heaven would be felt on earth.
Ein wenig zu spat ist viel zu spat=--A little too<b> late is much too<b> late.
If Peeta and I were both to die, or they thought we were....My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. "No, I won't let you." "Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?" Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. "The count of three," he says. We stand, our backs pressed together, our empty hands locked tight. "Hold them out. I want everyone to see," he says. I spread out my fingers, and the dark berries glisten in the sun. I give Peeta's hand one last squeeze as a signal, as a good-bye, and we begin counting. "One." Maybe I'm wrong. "Two." Maybe they don't care if we both die. "Three!" It's too<b> late to change my mind. I lift my hand to my mouth taking one last look at the world. The berries have just passed my lips when the trumpets begin to blare. The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts above them. "Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the 74th Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you - the tributes of District 12!
It's never too<b> late to learn.
I do not want to frighten you by telling you about the temptations life will bring. Anyone who is healthy in spirit will overcome them. But there is something I want you to realize. It does not matter so much what you do. What matters is whether your soul is harmed by what you do. If your soul is harmed, something irreparable happens, the extent of which you won't realize until it will be too<b> late.
The spiritual artist too is born blind, and does not, like certain other creatures, receive sight in nine days, but far later--perhaps never.
And as the smart ship grew In stature, grace, and hue, In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too. Alien they seemed to be; No mortal eye could see The intimate welding of their later history, Or sign that they were bent By paths coincident On being anon twin halves of one august event, Till the Spinner of the Years Said "Now!" And each one hears, And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.
There is, by God's grace, an immeasurable distance between late and too<b> late.--_Madame Swetchine._
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; it will spread from Pole to Pole, suddenly burning with the fervor of soul which made it burst forth; it will be the reign of the human mind in all its plenitude; it will not have time to ripen, to accumulate in the form of a book; the book will arrive too<b> late; the only book possible from day to day is a newspaper.--_Lamartine._
For what it’s worth: it’s never too<b> late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again.
Let us consider that arbitrary power has seldom or never been introduced into any country at once. It must be introduced by slow degrees, and as it were step by step, lest the people should see it approach. The barriers and fences of the people’s liberty must be plucked one by one, and some plausible pretenses must be found for removing or hoodwinking, one after another, those sentries who are posted by the constitution of a free country for warning the people of their danger. When these preparatory steps are once made, the people may then indeed, with regret, see slavery and arbitrary power making long strides over their land; but it will be too<b> late to think of preventing or avoiding the impending ruin. [ Miscellaneous Works , Vol. IV, 1779.]
To each his suff'rings; all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan,-- The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too<b> late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise. No more; where ignorance is bliss, 'T is folly to be wise.
Man is his own star, and the soul that can / Render an honest and a perfect man, / Commands all light, all influence, all fate; / Nothing to him falls early or too<b> late.
There's no life that couldn't be immortal if only for a moment. Death always arrives by that very moment too<b> late. In vain it tugs at the knob of the invisible door. As far as you've come can't be undone.
Wisdom too often never comes, and so one ought not to reject it merely because it comes late.
The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.
Let us do something while we have the chance! It is not every day that we are needed. Not indeed that we personally are needed. Others would meet the case equally well, if not better. To all mankind they were addressed, those cries for help still ringing in our ears! But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too<b> late! Let us represent worthily for once the foul brood to which a cruel fate consigned us!
It is too<b> late to spare when the bottom is bare.
Business and labor are both in the same boat and it is almost suicidal for workers to think they can prosper by making it less profitable (or completely unprofitable) to employ them. Most glaring example of this kind of suicide is the Maritime Union which was so successful in getting all the wage increases it demanded that the American flag vanished from the seven seas…. Railroad labor has been almost equally successful in pricing itself out of the market…. Admittedly these may be extreme examples of labor pricing itself out of work, but union leaders would be wise to recognize before it is too<b> late that they are harnessing the profit motive to disemployment when they force wage increases far in excess of productivity gains…. [S]uccess will depend on the employers’ willingness to offer such generous profit sharing that every worker will realize that his own bread is richly buttered on the same side as his employer’s and will have a maximum incentive to maximize productivity and minimize waste in order to increase his own income.
To-morrow will I live, the fool does say: / To-day itself's too<b> late; the wise lived yesterday.
It is never too<b> late to mend.
(Professor of law emeritus at Loyola Law School in Los Angeles). Consider the Constitution. What we have here is a grim reminder that the liberties protected by the Bill of Rights are not neatly divisible into “property rights” and “personal liberties.” Even where the invasion is “only” of one’s property rights, it often implicates violation of other rights as well, even the right to life itself. Here is an object lesson that where one category of fundamental constitutional rights is not secure from governmental overreaching, neither are the others. All of which brings to mind the insight of the late U.S. Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart, who observed in 1972 that “the dichotomy between personal liberties and property rights is a false one. Property does not have rights. People have rights. In fact, a fundamental interdependence exists between the personal right to liberty and the personal right in property. Neither could have meaning without the other.” And if that is not enough, reflect on the fact that there are no societies in the world where a high degree of personal and political liberty does not correlate strongly with economic liberty. There may well be a moral in that too. [“Rule of Law,” The Wall Street Journal, August 25, 1993, p. A9.]
The avalanche has started, it is too<b> late for the pebbles to vote.
Unless an age too<b> late, or cold Climate, or years, damp my intended wing.
To each his suff'rings: all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan, The tender for another's pain; Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate? Since sorrow never comes too<b> late, And happiness too swiftly flies. Thought would destroy their paradise. No more; where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.
If we feel that this life can only be a link in a chain without beginning and without end, in a circle which has its beginning and its end everywhere and nowhere, we learn to bear it, and to enjoy it too, in a new sense. What we achieve here assumes a new meaning--it will not altogether perish, whether for good or for evil. What is done in time is done for ever--what is done by one affects us all. Thus our love too is not lost--what is loved in time is loved for ever. The form changes, but that which changes, which undergoes change, remains itself unchanged. We seem to love the fleeting forms of life, and yet how can we truly love what is so faithless? No, we truly love what is, and was, and will be, hidden under the fleeting forms of life, but in itself more than those fleeting forms however fair. We love the fair appearance too, how could it be otherwise? but we should love it only as belonging to what we love--not as being what we love. So it is, or rather so it ought to be. Yet while we are what we are, we love the flower, not the sightless grain of seed, and when that flower fades and passes away, we mourn for it, and our only comfort is that we too fade and pass away. Then we follow there, wherever they go. Some flowers fade sooner, some later, but none is quite forgotten.
Great happiness makes one feel so often that it cannot last, and that we will have some day to give up all to which one's heart clings so. A few years sooner or later, but the time will come, and come quicker than one expects. Therefore I believe it is right to accustom oneself to the thought that we can none of us escape death, and that all our happiness here is only lent us. But at the same time we can thankfully enjoy all that God gives us, ... and there is still so much left us, so much to be happy and thankful for, and yet here too the thought always rushes across one's brightest hours: it cannot last, it is only for a few years and then it must be given up. Let us work as long as it is day, let us try to do our duty, and be very thankful for God's blessings which have been showered upon us so richly--but let us learn also always to look beyond, and learn to be ready to give up everything,--and yet say, Thy Will be done.
Thus spake the master programmer:
Post cineres gloria sera venit=--- Glory comes too<b> late after one is reduced to ashes.
It is never too<b> late to be wise.
It is a maxim universally agreed upon in agriculture, that nothing must be done too<b> late; and again, that everything must be done at its proper season; while there is a third precept which reminds us that opportunities lost can never be regained.
Love too<b> late can never glow.
Better three hours too soon than a minute too<b> late.
Let thy alms go before, and keep heaven's gate / Open for thee, or both may come too<b> late.
Now you see that the hope and the desire of returning home to one's former state is like the desire of the moth for the light, and the man who, with constant yearning and joyful expectancy, awaits the new spring and the new summer, and every new month and the new year, and thinks that what he longs for is ever too<b> late in coming, and does not perceive that he is longing for his own destruction. But this desire is the quintessence, the spirit, of the elements, which, finding itself captive in the soul of the human body, desires always to return to its giver. And I would have you know that this same desire is the quintessence which is inseparable from nature, and that man is the model of the world. And such is the supreme folly of man that he labours so as to labour no more, and life flies from him while he forever hopes to enjoy the goods which he has acquired at the price of great labour.
Stets zu spat kommt gute Kunde, / Schlechte Kunde zu fruhe=--Good news comes always too<b> late; bad, always too soon.
Never too old to turn; never too<b> late to learn.
Sero sapiunt Phryges=--The Trojans became wise when too<b> late.
It is strange how little we all think of death as the condition of all the happiness we enjoy now. If we could but learn to value each hour of life, to enjoy it fully, to use it fully, never to spoil a minute by selfishness, then death would never come too soon; it is the wasted hours which are like death in life, and which make life really so short. It is not too<b> late to learn to try to be more humble, more forbearing, more courteous, or, what is at the root of all, more loving.
Sero clypeum post vulnera sumo=--I am too<b> late in taking my shield after being wounded.
I did not know what to answer, because it would be too sudden and too direct, but I knew in my heart that what I wanted was everything that could be between a woman and a man; not at first, of course, but later, when we had found our other mountain, or our wilderness, or wherever it was we might go to hide ourselves from the world. There was no need to rehearse all that now. The point was that I was prepared to follow her anywhere if she would let me.
What is it that keeps men in continual discontent and agitation? It is that they cannot make realities correspond with their conceptions, that enjoyment steals away from among their hands, that the wished-for comes too<b> late, and nothing reached and acquired produces on the heart the effect which their longing for it at a distance led them to anticipate.
Cineri gloria sera venit=--Glory comes too<b> late to one in the dust.
Die Sorg' um Kunft'ges niemals frommt; Man fuhlt kein Uebel, bis es kommt. / Und wenn man's fuhlt, so hilft kein Rat; / Weisheit ist immer zu fruh und zu spat=--Concern for the future boots not; we feel no evil till it comes. And when we feel it, no counsel avails; wisdom is always too early and too<b> late.
It is too<b> late to husband when all is spent.
He gets through too<b> late who goes too fast.
We are come too<b> late, by several thousand years, to say anything new in morality. The finest and most beautiful thoughts concerning manners have been carried away before our times, and nothing is left for us but to glean after the ancients and the more ingenious of the moderns.
Life's Tragedy is that we get old to soon and wise too<b> late.
It is the most painful work I know looking through the papers and other things belonging to one who is no more with us. How different everything looks to what it did before. There is one beautiful feature about death, it carries off all the small faults of the soul we loved, it makes us see the true littleness of little things, it takes away all the shadows, and only leaves the light. That is how it ought to be; and if in judging of a person we could only bring ourselves to think how we should judge of them if we saw them on the bed of death, how different life would be! We always judge in self-defence, and that makes our judgments so harsh. When they are gone how readily we forget and forgive everything, how truly we love all that was lovable in them, how we blame ourselves for our own littleness in minding this and that, and not simply and truly loving all that was good and bright and noble. How different life might be if we could all bring ourselves to be what we really are, good and loving, and could blow away the dust that somehow or other will fall on all of us. It is never too<b> late to begin again.
In youth it is too early, in old age it is too<b> late to marry.
Wer erst klug wird nach der That, / Braucht seine Weisheit viel zu spat=--He who is wise only after the deed, uses his wisdom much too<b> late.
Isn't it odd how much fatter a book gets when you've read it several times?" Mo had said..."As if something were left between the pages every time you read it. Feelings, thoughts, sounds, smells...and then, when you look at the book again many years later, you find yourself there, too, a slightly younger self, slightly different, as if the book had preserved you like a pressed flower...both strange and familiar.
Man is his own star; and the soul that can Render an honest and a perfect man Commands all light, all influence, all fate. Nothing to him falls early, or too<b> late. Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.
When lovely woman stoops to folly / And finds, too<b> late, that men betray, / What charm can soothe her melancholy? / What art can wash her guilt away?
Woe, that too<b> late repents.
Know ere thou hint, and then thou may'st slack: / If thou hint ere thou know, then it is too<b> late.
I now reckon upon a speedy dissolution. I have suffered very little pain from my disorder; and what is more strange have, notwithstanding the great decline of my person, never suffered a moment's abatement of spirits; insomuch that were I to name the period of my life which I should most choose to pass over again, I might be tempted to point to this later period. I possess the same ardour as ever in study, and the same gaiety in company; I consider, besides, that a man of sixty-five, by dying, cuts off only a few years of infirmities; and though I see many symptoms of my literary reputation's breaking out at last with additional lustre, I know that I could have but few years to enjoy it. It is difficult to be more detached from life than I am at present. "To conclude historically with my own character, I am, or rather was (for that is the style I must now use in speaking of myself); I was, I say, a man of mild dispositions, of command of temper, of an open, social, and cheerful humour, capable of attachment, but little susceptible of enmity, and of great moderation in all my passions. Even my love of literary fame, my ruling passion, never soured my temper, notwithstanding my frequent disappointments. My company was not unacceptable to the young and careless, as well as to the studious and literary; and as I took a particular pleasure in the company of modest women, I had no reason to be displeased with the reception I met with from them. In a word, though most men any wise eminent, have found reason to complain of calumny, I never was touched or even attacked by her baleful tooth; and though I wantonly exposed myself to the rage of both civil and religious factions, they seemed to be disarmed in my behalf of their wonted fury. My friends never had occasion to vindicate any one circumstance of my character and conduct; not but that the zealots, we may well suppose, would have been glad to invent and propagate any story to my disadvantage, but they could never find any which they thought would wear the face of probability. I cannot say there is no vanity in making this funeral oration of myself, but I hope it is not a misplaced one; and this is a matter of fact which is easily cleared and ascertained.