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Marcus Aurelius of the day
Book 2, 2. A little flesh, a little breath, and a Reason to rule all--that is myself. (Forget your books; no more hankering for them; they were no part of your equipment.) As one already on the threshold of death, think nothing of the first--of its viscid blood, its bones, its web of nerves and veins and arteries. The breath, too; what is that ? A whiff of wind; and not even the same wind, but every moment puffed out and drawn in anew. But the third, the Reason, the master--on this you must concentrate. Now that your hairs are grey, let it play the part of a slave no more, twitching puppetwise at every pull of self-interest; and cease to fume at destiny by ever grumbling at today or lamenting over tomorrow.