Best 263 quotes in «carpe diem quotes» category

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    My expectations were reduced to zero when I was 21. Everything since then has been a bonus." [The Science of Second-Guessing (New York Times Magazine Interview, December 12, 2004)]

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    No day but today.

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    No dejes para mañana la diversión que puedes tener hoy.

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    Nostalgia" How often we use this word reminiscing about the past - our childhood, school days, college days.. We feel nostalgic, we dwell in the memories of the past, we talk about how great those days were and how we would do anything to just go back in time and live those days again.. Perhaps we fail to realize the fact that tomorrow we will say the same things about today, about the days we are living in now, about the emotions we are feeling now, about the time we are spending now.. I love this day. I love this weird feeling I feel today. I belong here.

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    Oh mein Sohn, es wird auch berichtet, dass Luqman (der Weise) seinem Sohn riet: "Oh Sohn, du möchtest doch nicht, dass der Hahn gescheiter ist als du. Er kräht zur Morgendämmerung und du schläfst weiter.

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    Not to waste the spring I threw down everything, And ran into the open world To sing what I could sing... To dance what I could dance! And join with everyone! I wandered with a reckless heart beneath the newborn sun. First stepping through the blushing dawn, I crossed beneath a garden bower, counting every hermit thrush, counting every hour. When morning's light was ripe at last, I stumbled on with reckless feet; and found two nymphs engaged in play, approaching them stirred no retreat. With naked skin, their weaving hands, in form akin to Calliope's maids, shook winter currents from their hair to weave within them vernal braids. I grabbed the first, who seemed the stronger by her soft and dewy leg, and swore blind eyes, Lest I find I, before Diana, a hunted stag. But the nymphs they laughed, and shook their heads. and begged I drop beseeching hands. For one was no goddess, the other no huntress, merely two girls at play in the early day. "Please come to us, with unblinded eyes, and raise your ready lips. We will wash your mouth with watery sighs, weave you springtime with our fingertips." So the nymphs they spoke, we kissed and laid, by noontime's hour, our love was made, Like braided chains of crocus stems, We lay entwined, I laid with them, Our breath, one glassy, tideless sea, Our bodies draping wearily. We slept, I slept so lucidly, with hopes to stay this memory. I woke in dusty afternoon, Alone, the nymphs had left too soon, I searched where perched upon my knees Heard only larks' songs in the trees. "Be you, the larks, my far-flung maids? With lilac feet and branchlike braids... Who sing sweet odes to my elation, in your larking exaltation!" With these, my clumsy, carefree words, The birds they stirred and flew away, "Be I, poor Actaeon," I cried, "Be dead… Before they, like Hippodamia, be gone astray!" Yet these words, too late, remained unheard, By lark, that parting, morning bird. I looked upon its parting flight, and smelled the coming of the night; desirous, I gazed upon its jaunt, as Leander gazes Hellespont. Now the hour was ripe and dark, sensuous memories of sunlight past, I stood alone in garden bowers and asked the value of my hours. Time was spent or time was tossed, Life was loved and life was lost. I kissed the flesh of tender girls, I heard the songs of vernal birds. I gazed upon the blushing light, aware of day before the night. So let me ask and hear a thought: Did I live the spring I’d sought? It's true in joy, I walked along, took part in dance, and sang the song. and never tried to bind an hour to my borrowed garden bower; nor did I once entreat a day to slumber at my feet. Yet days aren't lulled by lyric song, like morning birds they pass along, o'er crests of trees, to none belong; o'er crests of trees of drying dew, their larking flight, my hands, eschew Thus I'll say it once and true… From all that I saw, and everywhere I wandered, I learned that time cannot be spent, It only can be squandered.

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    Omnes feriunt, ultima necat.

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    Quiero vivir antes de morir. Es lo único que tiene sentido

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    People—especially men—don't always know what they want. You try, and if it doesn't work, then you may quit.” With a broken heart. As if she'd read her mind, Abuelita frowned and scolded, “Hearts mend, but lost chances are gone forever.

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    Qui cherche et ne saisit pas ce qui s'offre ne le reverra jamais plus.

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    Remember that your days on this earth are counted and you might as well make the best of those you have left.

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    ¿Sabes una cosa? Toda mi vida he tenido miedo a ser feliz por si acaso el cosmos me lo compensaba con una buena dosis de desgracia. Así que nunca he lanzado las campanas al vuelo por nada: ni por un sobresaliente, ni por una conquista, ni en un cumpleaños. Nunca me he permitido tener una explosión de felicidad total. Y ahora sé que la fatalidad llega sola. A mí también, que llevaba mucho tiempo contenida en una felicidad tibia: ser una buena mujer, tener tranquila a la familia, hacer todo aquello que se esperaba de mí en la creencia de que eso se mantendría salvo. Hacer lo que tú llamas "lo correcto". Pero el cosmos no te recompensa. Y ahora me pregunto por qué no he sido más espontánea y locamente feliz todas y cada una de las veces que tuve la oportunidad de serlo. Si yo fuera, tú disfrutaría de la alegría encontrar el amor ahora que lo tienes sin limitaciones.

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    Rest in Peace?’ Why that phrase? That’s the most ridiculous phrase I’ve ever heard! You die, and they say ‘Rest in Peace!’ …Why would one need to ‘rest’ when they’re dead?! I spent thousands of years of world history resting. While Agamemnon was leading his ships to Troy, I was resting. While Ovid was seducing women at the chariot races, I was resting. While Jeanne d’Arc was hallucinating, I was resting. I wait until airplanes are scuttling across the sky to burst out onto the scene, and I’m only going to be here for a short while, so when I die, I certainly won’t need to rest again! Not while more adventures of the same kind are going on.

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    Rich or poor it’s nice to have money

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    Some things in life are like ice cream: They’re only good for a while and then they melt. The trick is enjoying it and making the most of it while it’s still ice cream.

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    So it's pretty simple. Go sing. Sing well or sing badly -it doesn't matter, as long as you sing your fucking heart out.

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    Sólo importaba que era verano y que bailábamos sobre un cementerio. Que reclamábamos por primera vez nuestro derecho a no tomarnos la vida tan en serio. Porque cada día estamos más cerca de la muerte, esté donde esté guardando. Puede ser mañana o dentro de diez años... [...] Qué más da. Ahora lo sé. Hay que aprender a bailar sobre un cementerio. A hacer brotar flores sobre los muertos. A aceptar el fracaso porque el fracaso no existe. Sólo existe el fin de las cosas. No nos enseñan a aceptar la caducidad de lo importante. No nos enseñan que a veces el único fracaso es la inercia de hacerlas continuar. Y es que todo caduca, como me dijo Olivia, lo bueno y lo malo. El amor es sufrimiento. Pienso que una vida que termina no es un fracaso. Todo depende de cómo lo hayas vivido. Y si la mía termina de esta noche, tras este viaje, ya sería un éxito. La relación que termina no es un fracaso, depende de lo que nos haya portado, enriquecido, de lo que nos haya dejado tras su muerte. Si ha compensado, es un éxito. Hay que amar. Y amar bien. Intensamente. Aunque se acabe

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    Some people chase the idea of death so much they forget to do something as simple, yet profound, as live.

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    See, my aim is not to survive but to be thrown to the wolfs with adrenaline still pumping in my veins and hear the gods laughing saying ”that was one hell of a youth” and everything I do I do in order to push my senses and levels of natural ecstasy. I want to be so awake that I pass out by exhaustion every night with a smile on my face and no thoughts of tomorrow because today was all I ever could make of it and I am sick and tired of boredom. Bored people slumbering boring words about bored habits and I want to get out.

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    Some are saving their right now for later, when tomorrow could be never.

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    Someday the Sun will explode, and what about our journalism and poetry then? Well, so what? To hell with our exploding Sun. We have to do what we can do in the time we can act.

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    That is a very Earthling question to ask, Mr. Pilgrim. Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?’ ‘Yes.’ Billy in fact, had a paperweight in his office which was a blob of polished amber with three ladybugs embedded in it. ‘Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.

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    Stop waiting for the perfect day or the perfect moment... Take THIS day, THIS moment and lead it to perfection.

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    Take too much time, and time will take you.

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    The definition of a professional is one who does a job well even when they don't like it.

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    Then I wondered why on earth would anyone ever stand in the world as if standing in the cornucopic middle of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon but inside a tiny white-painted rectangle about the size of a single space in a car park, refusing to come out of it, and all around her or him the whole world, beautiful, various, waiting?

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    The hour of spring was dark at last, sensuous memories of sunlight past, I stood alone in garden bowers and asked the value of my hours. Time was spent or time was tossed, Life was loved and life was lost. I kissed the flesh of tender girls, I heard the songs of vernal birds. I gazed upon the blushing light, aware of day before the night. So let me ask and hear a thought: Did I live the spring I’d sought? It's true in joy, I walked along, took part in dance, and sang the song. and never tried to bind an hour to my borrowed garden bower; nor did I once entreat a day to slumber at my feet. Yet days aren't lulled by lyric song, like morning birds they pass along, o'er crests of trees, to none belong; o'er crests of trees of drying dew, their larking flight, my hands, eschew Thus I’ll say it once and true... From all that I saw, and everywhere I wandered, I learned that time cannot be spent, It only can be squandered.

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    There are two contradicting universal principles which, when joined together, can help you lead a most satisfactory life: the first is to seize ever opportunity, and the second is to allow the will of the universe to be done through you.

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    The people we consider successful in our society are all people that seize every moment and make the best of each situation.

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    This moment is yours and yours alone! Take charge, seize this moment and allow it to propel you to the high levels of an empowered life. Allow upon this fertile moment to be planted the seeds of your happiness and success.

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    The straight line will take you only to death.

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    The unfailing rhythm of the seasons, the ever-turning wheel of life, the four facets of the earth which are lit in turn by the sun, the passing of life--all these filled me once more with a feeling of oppression. Once more there sounded within me, together with the cranes' cry, the terrible warning that there is only one life for all men, that there is no other, and that all that can be enjoyed must be enjoyed here. In eternity no other chance will be given to us. A mind hearing this pitiless warning--a warning which, at the same time, is so compassionate--would decide to conquer its weakness and meanness, its laziness and vain hopes and cling with all its power to every second which flies away forever. Great examples come to your mind and you see clearly that you are a lost soul, your life is being frittered away on petty pleasures and pains and trifling talk. "Shame! Shame!" you cry, and bite your lips.

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    Vivo espantado de estar vivo.

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    TIME: Today Is My Everything

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    To live like you've had no yesterdays is a triumph that is both sublime and stupid.

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    Try to be happy in this present moment, and put not off being so to a time to come--as though that time should be of another make from this which has already come and is ours.

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    Vivir es una tarea urgente

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    West Wind #2 You are young. So you know everything. You leap into the boat and begin rowing. But listen to me. Without fanfare, without embarrassment, without any doubt, I talk directly to your soul. Listen to me. Lift the oars from the water, let your arms rest, and your heart, and heart’s little intelligence, and listen to me. There is life without love. It is not worth a bent penny, or a scuffed shoe. It is not worth the body of a dead dog nine days unburied. When you hear, a mile away and still out of sight, the churn of the water as it begins to swirl and roil, fretting around the sharp rocks – when you hear that unmistakable pounding – when you feel the mist on your mouth and sense ahead the embattlement, the long falls plunging and steaming – then row, row for your life toward it.

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    Well, it does make you realize that life, even at its longest, is still very short.

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    What do you care if people talk? Those who talk cannot harm you. Why should you be worried? You should only think about those things that please you. You have only one life in this world: soon you'll reach your eternal rest.

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    ...we were doing this...this weird circling thing, like we needed to figure out every single line of the script before we could even start the movie. I knew, and he knew, and we didn’t do a damn thing about it... It’s like we thought everything had to be perfect, or it wouldn’t work. Like it was a story.

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    What are you willing to have left undone in your life? Don’t let yourself be another example of a life gambled but not lived. Do not waste another day! If not now, when?

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    What if you treated each day like it was your last? What would you do differently? What would you be grateful for? What would be important to you? How mindful would you be? What would your interactions with others be like? How meaningful would your day be? How much depth would that add to your experience?

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    When life gives you lemons, don't waste your time making lemonade.

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    [What Rushdie took away from reading Gunter Grass's The Tin Drum]: Go for broke. Always try and do too much. Dispense with safety nets. Take a deep breath before you begin talking. Aim for the stars. Keep grinning. Be ruthless. Argue with the world. And never forget that writing is as close as we get to keeping a hold on the thousand and one things--childhood, certainties, cities, doubts, dreams, instants, phrases, parents, loves--that go on slipping like sand, through our fingers.

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    When did your flight plan become a holding pattern, always circling happiness, but never allowed to land? Distracted by in-flight movies, drinks, and snacks, until the fuel runs out. Is this really all there is? Is this what you want out of life?

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    When people are to busy to survive they forget to live.

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    What is the date? What is the time? … Great, that’s what Now is. And every second, your ‘Now’ changes. Because all we have is Now. We are continuously living in the Now. Not yesterday, not tomorrow, but Now. Today. The present. And I need you to live in it. To truly appreciate it. To breathe and feel yourself breathing.

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    You can never get a moment back once it has passed. Are you trading your moments for something worthwhile, for something meaningful?

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    Whether it is the best of times or the worst of times, it is the only time we have.