Busyness (n.) makes little sense that people rush around in such a terrible haste, because if there is no eternity, the moment is just as long as if there were.
Busyness's (n.) result is that an individual is very seldom permitted to form a heart.
Busyness (n.) is to occupy oneself, divided and scattered with all the multiplicity in which it is simply impossible for a person to be whole, whole in all of it or whole in any particular part of it, something only the insane can succeed in doing.
Busyness (n.) is a failure to love oneself: the busy man squandering himself on vain projects has not learned how to love himself.
Busyness (n.) is determined not by how much one does but by what one does it with: to be busy is to occupy oneself dividedly with the manifold that divides; whoever occupies himself only with the eternal is never busy.
Busyness (n.) is the housewife who, when her house was on fire, saved the fire-tongs — what more do the hustlers save from the great fire of life?
Busyness (n.) makes people the most tiresome of all — like lower forms of life they multiply endlessly; it is inconceivable that nature should need nine months to produce them.
Busyness (n.) that the aesthete mocks hides his own view of life: both want only to enjoy it — his way is more refined, theirs far more innocent.
Busyness (n.) is no proof of substance, any more than the man who argued he had much business because he kept five clerks and had no time to eat.
Busyness (n.) is a heathen fault, like long prayers telling God what he already knows: always occupied, always enslaved to earnest activity, with no time for jest.