"Do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Let the day's own trouble be sufficient for the day"
About this Quote
Anxiety is portrayed here as a kind of bureaucrat: it will show up tomorrow whether you RSVP or not. Butler’s line works by refusing the modern fantasy that worry is preparation. “Tomorrow will be anxious for itself” flips the usual logic - as if the future doesn’t need your vigilance, because it already comes preloaded with its own unrest. The wit is quiet but pointed: you can’t outmaneuver time by suffering early.
The subtext is less “stay positive” than “stop double-paying.” There’s an implicit economics to the phrasing. “Sufficient” is a hard, almost Calvinist word - not comforting, but delimiting. Today has its allotted dose of trouble; taking tomorrow’s troubles on credit doesn’t make you prudent, it makes you insolvent. The sentence also smuggles in an ethical rebuke: anxiety isn’t just painful, it’s a kind of vanity, the belief that your private dread can materially manage what hasn’t arrived.
Context matters because the line echoes Matthew 6:34 almost verbatim, suggesting Butler is either channeling scripture or deliberately re-siting it in a 19th-century world newly obsessed with progress, schedules, and self-improvement. Coming from a poet (and a Victorian one), it reads like a corrective to an era’s tightening timelines: railways, deadlines, industrial discipline. The genius is its modesty. It doesn’t promise relief; it offers a boundary. And boundaries, for anxious minds, are often the closest thing to mercy.
The subtext is less “stay positive” than “stop double-paying.” There’s an implicit economics to the phrasing. “Sufficient” is a hard, almost Calvinist word - not comforting, but delimiting. Today has its allotted dose of trouble; taking tomorrow’s troubles on credit doesn’t make you prudent, it makes you insolvent. The sentence also smuggles in an ethical rebuke: anxiety isn’t just painful, it’s a kind of vanity, the belief that your private dread can materially manage what hasn’t arrived.
Context matters because the line echoes Matthew 6:34 almost verbatim, suggesting Butler is either channeling scripture or deliberately re-siting it in a 19th-century world newly obsessed with progress, schedules, and self-improvement. Coming from a poet (and a Victorian one), it reads like a corrective to an era’s tightening timelines: railways, deadlines, industrial discipline. The genius is its modesty. It doesn’t promise relief; it offers a boundary. And boundaries, for anxious minds, are often the closest thing to mercy.
Quote Details
| Topic | Anxiety |
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