nately to
deliberate upon the matter, as though it were an abstract question
which did not touch us in particular. We should give no play to
imagination here; for imagination is not judgment--it only conjures up
visions, inducing an unprofitable and often very painful mood.

The rule on which I am here insisting should be most carefully
observed towards evening. For as darkness makes us timid and apt to
see terrifying shapes everywhere, there is something similar in the
effect of indistinct thought; and uncertainty always brings with it a
sense of danger. Hence, towards evening, when our powers of thought
and judgment are relaxed,--at the hour, as it were, of subjective
darkness,--the intellect becomes tired, easily confused, and unable
to get at the bottom of things; and if, in that state, we meditate
on matters of personal interest to ourselves, they soon assume a
dangerous and terrifying aspect. This is mostly the case at night,
when we are in bed; for then the mind is fully relaxed, and the power
of judgment quite unequal to its duties; but imagination is still
awake. Night gives a black look to everything, whatever it may be.
This is why our thoughts, just before we go to sleep, or as we lie
awake through the hours of the night, are usually such confusions and
perversions of facts as dreams themselves; and when our thoughts at
that time are concentrated upon our own concerns, they are generally
as black and monstrous as possible. In the morning all such nightmares
vanish like dreams: as the Spanish proverb has it, _noche tinta,
bianco el dia_--the night is colored, the day is white. But even
towards nightfall, as soon as the candles are lit, the mind, like the
eye, no longer sees things so clearly as by day: it is a time unsuited
to serious meditation, especially on unpleasant subjects. The morning
is the proper time for that--as indeed for all efforts without
exception, whether mental or bodily. For the morning is the youth of
the day, when everything is bright, fresh, and easy of attainment;
we feel strong then, and all our faculties are completely at our
disposal. Do not shorten the morning by getting up late, or waste it
in unworthy occupations or in talk; look upon it as the quintessence
of life, as to a certain extent sacred. Evening is like old age: we
are languid, talkative, silly. Each day is a little life: every waking
and rising a little birth, every fresh morning a little youth, every
going to rest and