Rude poets of the tavern hearth,
squandering your unquoted mirth,
which keeps the ground, and never soars,
while jake retorts, and reuben roars;
tough and screaming, as birch-bark,
goes like bullet to its mark;
while the solid curse and jeer
never balk the waiting ear.
The reason of idleness and of crime is the deferring of our hopes. Whilst we are waiting, we beguile the time with jokes, with sleep, with eating, and with crimes.
One of the truths I most deeply believe is that everything in life - everything - is energy. Within every one of us is the energy that makes the sun rise every day and keeps the planets aligned. It's there, already inside of you, waiting for you to know it. And when you tap in with that connection, that source, that miraculous energy, what I know for sure is that the universe rises up to meet you in unimaginable ways and help you create the life that you want.
Waiting is a large part of living. Great, passive, negative chunks of our time are consumed by waiting, from birth to death. Waiting is a special kind of activity - if activity is the right word for it - because we are held in enforced suspension between people and places, removed from the normal rhythms of our days and lives.