If I have made an appointment with you, I owe you punctuality, I

“If I have made an appointment with you, I owe you punctuality. I have no right to throw away your time, if I do my own.” Thus spoke Richard Cecil, the preacher and moralist, whose words ring with the weight of honor and the dignity of respect. In this declaration, he strikes at the heart of discipline and courtesy, reminding us that time—that fleeting, irretrievable treasure—is not ours alone, but something we share when we make promises to others. To waste one’s own hours may be folly, but to waste another’s is injustice.

The origin of this thought lies in the recognition that society itself is woven from covenants, both great and small. An appointment is not merely a meeting—it is a bond of trust. To agree upon a time is to give a portion of one’s life into another’s hands. Cecil understood that to violate this trust through lateness or negligence is to dishonor both the person and the sacred nature of time. Thus his words are not only about manners; they are about morality, about the righteousness of keeping faith with one’s fellow man.

History gives us examples of this truth. George Washington, even amid the storms of war, was known for his punctuality. He believed that discipline in small matters reflected discipline in greater ones. Once, when his officers arrived late to a council of war, they found him waiting—already standing, hat in hand—his face marked with disappointment. For him, lateness was not trivial; it was a breach of respect. It showed that one man placed his own hours above the shared labor of others. His life teaches us that order and greatness are born from reverence for even the smallest commitments.

On the other hand, when punctuality is scorned, chaos follows. Consider an army that fails to arrive on time to a battlefield, or an ambassador who misses the appointed hour of negotiation. Kingdoms have been lost, and peace squandered, because of delays that seemed minor but proved disastrous. Cecil’s wisdom, then, is not only personal but universal: in honoring another’s time, we preserve order, harmony, and even destiny itself.

There is also a deeper spiritual weight here. Time is life itself measured out in hours and minutes. When you take another’s time lightly, you are in truth wasting a portion of their life—something they can never reclaim. To be late is not simply to arrive after the clock’s hand has turned; it is to steal from the only wealth that every soul possesses in equal measure. Punctuality, therefore, is not a cold habit of the disciplined, but an act of love, a recognition of the sacredness of another’s life.

The lesson for future generations is clear: honor your promises, and guard the time of others as you would your own. In a world where distraction and delay are constant temptations, to be punctual is to be noble, to stand against the current of carelessness. Let your word be as solid as stone, your arrival as steady as the rising of the sun. Such reliability will earn trust, respect, and peace of conscience, for in keeping time you also keep faith.

Practical actions flow from this wisdom: prepare yourself early, so that haste does not betray your promises. Treat every appointment as sacred, whether with a king or a commoner. When you value another’s time, you declare their worth; when you waste it, you declare your own arrogance. Thus, let every man and woman strive not only to live well themselves but to let others live well by honoring the hours they have been given.

So let Cecil’s words endure as a standard: “I owe you punctuality.” Do not cast aside this duty as a trifle. For in truth, to respect the time of others is to practice justice, kindness, and wisdom. And those who master this discipline will find themselves masters not only of their schedules, but of their lives.