with a small result for a big effort, then do not begin. Lie down
again and resume the uneasy doze which you call your existence.

It is very sad, is it not, very depressing and sombre? And yet I
think it is rather fine, too, this necessity for the tense bracing
of the will before anything worth doing can be done. I rather like
it myself. I feel it to be the chief thing that differentiates me
from the cat by the fire.

"Well," you say, "assume that I am braced for the battle. Assume
that I have carefully weighed and comprehended your ponderous
remarks; how do I begin?" Dear sir, you simply begin. There is no
magic method of beginning. If a man standing on the edge of a
swimming-bath and wanting to jump into the cold water should ask
you, "How do I begin to jump?" you would merely reply, "Just jump.
Take hold of your nerves, and jump."

As I have previously said, the chief beauty about the constant
supply of time is that you cannot waste it in advance. The next
year, the next day, the next hour are lying ready for you, as
perfect, as unspoilt, as if you had never wasted or misapplied a
single moment in all your career. Which fact is very gratifying and
reassuring. You can turn over a new leaf every hour if you choose.
Therefore no object is served in waiting till next week, or even
until to-morrow. You may fancy that the water will be warmer next
week. It won't. It will be colder.

But before you begin, let me murmur a few words of warning in your
private ear.