"Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of"
About this Quote
Franklin turns a sentimental question into a shrewd audit. "Dost thou love life?" sounds like a warm moral prompt, but it’s really a trapdoor: if you answer yes, you’ve already accepted his premise that time is the only nonrenewable currency you actually spend. By defining time as "the stuff life is made of", he collapses the usual hierarchy - money, status, pleasure - into a single material. Life isn’t something you possess; it’s something you burn through, minute by minute, whether you notice or not.
The intent is unmistakably civic and practical, not mystical. Franklin’s America was a place where personal discipline was pitched as public virtue: a self-governed citizenry required citizens who could govern themselves. "Squander" is the tell. It’s a word from the marketplace and the ledger, smuggling in an economic ethic under the guise of wisdom. Wasting time becomes not just a private indulgence but a kind of moral insolvency.
There’s subtext, too, about agency. Franklin doesn’t warn that life is short; he implies you are actively trading it away through distraction, procrastination, or misdirected labor. The line flatters the reader with control while scolding them for failing to exercise it.
Context matters: Franklin the printer, inventor, and statesman was a brand of industriousness, and this maxim reads like a tool of self-fashioning. It’s less about joy than about stewardship - a reminder that freedom, in his worldview, is sustained by habits that prevent you from frittering it into nothing.
The intent is unmistakably civic and practical, not mystical. Franklin’s America was a place where personal discipline was pitched as public virtue: a self-governed citizenry required citizens who could govern themselves. "Squander" is the tell. It’s a word from the marketplace and the ledger, smuggling in an economic ethic under the guise of wisdom. Wasting time becomes not just a private indulgence but a kind of moral insolvency.
There’s subtext, too, about agency. Franklin doesn’t warn that life is short; he implies you are actively trading it away through distraction, procrastination, or misdirected labor. The line flatters the reader with control while scolding them for failing to exercise it.
Context matters: Franklin the printer, inventor, and statesman was a brand of industriousness, and this maxim reads like a tool of self-fashioning. It’s less about joy than about stewardship - a reminder that freedom, in his worldview, is sustained by habits that prevent you from frittering it into nothing.
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