We never live in the present…

A Poem by Blaise Pascale, from Pensées

We never keep to the present.

We recall the past;

we anticipate the future

as if we found it too slow

in coming and were trying

to hurry it up,

or we recall the past

as if to stay

its too rapid flight.

We are so unwise

that we wander about

in times that do not belong

to us, and do not think

of the only one that does;

so vain that we dream

of times that are not

and blindly flee

the only one that is.

The fact is that the present

usually hurts. We thrust

it out of sight because

it distresses us,

and if we find it enjoyable,

we are sorry to see

it slip away. We try

to give it the support

of the future, and think

how we are going to arrange

things over which we have

no control for a time

we can never be sure of

reaching. Let each of us examine

her thoughts; she will find

them wholly concerned

with the past or the future.

We almost never think

of the present,

and if we do think

of it, it is only to see

what light it throws

on our plans for the future.

The present is never our end.

The past and the present are

our means, the future alone our end.

Thus, we never actually live,

but hope to live,

and since we are always planning

how to be happy,

it is inevitable

that we should never be so.