There is no greater harm than that of time wasted.

Michelangelo, master of marble and fresco, spoke with a voice that reached beyond the chisel and the brush when he declared: “There is no greater harm than that of time wasted.” In these few words lies a truth as sharp as a blade and as eternal as stone. For time is the only possession granted equally to all, yet it is the one most carelessly thrown aside. Wealth can be regained, strength can be rebuilt, even honor can be restored—but time, once squandered, is lost to the abyss forever. The old master, who labored ceaselessly through pain and age to carve his visions into permanence, understood that the deepest wound of life is not inflicted by enemies, but by our own neglect of the hours given to us.

To speak of time wasted is to speak of a slow erosion of the soul. It is not idleness alone that Michelangelo condemns, but the misdirection of one’s energy toward pursuits that yield no fruit, no wisdom, no beauty. To squander days on trivial distractions is to trade the gold of life for dust. The ancients often said that idleness is the workshop of ruin, and here Michelangelo echoes them, reminding us that every breath unspent in meaningful action lessens our chance to leave a mark upon the world.

History abounds with examples of those who heeded or ignored this wisdom. Consider Napoleon Bonaparte, who, during his exile on Elba, lamented not only the loss of empire but the endless days of emptiness. Though still alive, he was already entombed by the waste of time, pacing, planning, yet powerless to act. Contrast this with Benjamin Franklin, who in his youth set down the maxim, “Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that’s the stuff life is made of.” By treasuring every moment, Franklin’s industrious spirit birthed inventions, institutions, and philosophies that outlived his mortal span. One perished in regret, the other rose in legacy.

Michelangelo himself embodied the fierce guardianship of time. Even in old age, tormented by illness and doubt, he toiled upon St. Peter’s Basilica, declaring that his hands must not rest while there was yet stone unshaped. He believed that the measure of a man was not in his years but in what he wrought with them. To him, to allow time to pass unused was a betrayal of the divine spark that sets humanity apart. His art, his struggle, his unyielding devotion, were his rebellion against the decay of wasted hours.

The lesson for us is clear: life is brief, and its true wealth lies in what we create, what we learn, and what we give. To waste time is to deny ourselves the fullness of existence. Let every sunrise remind us that the hours are jewels, slipping swiftly through the fingers of those who do not grasp them with intent. Let not distractions, idle quarrels, or endless postponement rob us of the one treasure we cannot reclaim.

What then shall we do? Begin each day with purpose. Ask: What small stone can I carve today toward the monument of my life? Read instead of drifting, speak words of kindness instead of silence, strive toward the craft of your hands or the sharpening of your mind. Let leisure itself be purposeful, nourishing rather than numbing. Guard your hours as a miser guards his gold, for they are rarer still.

And so, children of tomorrow, remember the warning of the master: there is no harm greater than that of time wasted. For time is the breath of your destiny, the rhythm of your becoming, the forge of your immortality. Do not let it be stolen, nor let it slip away unshaped. Carve it, honor it, spend it wisely, and when the end comes, you shall leave not emptiness but a legacy, etched like Michelangelo’s David, unbowed by centuries, whispering to the world that your time was not lost but transfigured into greatness.