Often times, in multifarious boughts of reverie, as often as when one dreams great dreams, quite certainly many an individual has come to the point where if one could take hold of the forthcoming hours of their lives, and keep them fast, and catch each moment firmly in their grasp so as to allay the ruefulness of their woefully lamentable and laborious states of mind and toil, it is portendable that there would be no minutes or hours left free of any person's hands, no matter how inadvertent or unattentive they may be. For while in theory many would ardently deny such a proposition, it remains easily within the disposition of the general population that they are much inclined to acquire better use of their time. For the doughty, valient worker who desires to exceed and excel in the various facets of life set agin to them, time is the chief plenipotentiary in which they use and invest most of their resources.
Time. Such a thing as one might wish all too vainly to be a thing consisting of static matter, of most predictable substance as which one might be able to receive ample remuneration for all their traversing and ungenial labor.
But such a concept of the object of time is obstinantly and painfully ridiculous, for indeed one of the forefront and perpetual motifs which describe it is the vicussitudinal nature of the passage thereof.
No man or woman by simple guesses or calculation can portend with absolute irrevocability or infallibility what shall ever come to pass. For because of the vicissitudinal nature of time, what may seem likely or imperative to occur may be exactly unequivocal to the actual event in time.
One would be well counseled and would be advantageous in retaining a sound composure in refraining from boasting from the scintillation of any day which has not yet passed the horizon.
For indeed, though poignant, it is that very fact which we must capitulate ourselves to:
The Vicissitudinal Direction of Time.
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