Quote

A book I was reading today had this quote from Proust that gave me pause:

"One insists on one's daily outing so that in a month's time one will have had the necessary ration of fresh air; one has hesitated over which coat to take, which cabman to call; one is in the cab, the whole day lies before one, short because one must be back home early, as a friend is coming to see one; one hopes that it will be as fine again tomorrow; and one has no suspicion that death, which has been advancing within one on another plane, has chosen precisely this particular day to make its appearance, in a few minutes' time, more or less at the moment when the carriage reaches the Champs-Elysees."

Proust isn't someone I normally read, but this passage just made me think of our busyness, of all the plans we like to make, of all the things we deem so very important... when really it is all so futile and so often very unimportant.

"...all the days ordained for me were written in your book 

   before one of them came to be." ~Psalm 139:16b