Quotes About Time

Khóa kéo thay cho cúc áo và con ng??i ta m?t Ä'i ng?n Ä'ó th?i gian suy nghÄ© trong khi thay ?? vào bu?i sáng, má»™t gi? tri?t lý, và do v?y là má»™t gi? s?u muá»™n.

Softly, softly, like two white paper lanterns on a night wind, the women moved over their lifetime and their past, and over the meadows where the tent cities glowed and the highways where supply trucks would be clustered and running until dawn. They hovered above it all for a long time.

What did Time smell like? Like dust and clocks and people. And if you wondered what Time sounded like it sounded like water running in a dark cave and voices crying and dirt dropping down upon hollow box-lids, and rain.

Mais on ne peut pas forcer les gens à écouter. Il faut qu'ils changent d'avis à leur heure, quand ils se demanderont ce qui s'est passé et pourquoi le monde a explosé sous leurs pieds. Ça ne peut pas durer éternellement.

So that man, the first one, knew what we know now: our hour is short, eternity is long.

The sun burned every day. It burned Time. The world rushed in a circle and turned on its axis and time was busy burning the years and the people […]

The leaf-light flickered on the paper-thin skin of the old men's wrists, the shadows alternating with fading sunlight. They moved in a soft whisper.

What does it matter who is Past or Future, if we are both alive, for what follows will follow, tomorrow or in ten thousand years. How do you know that those temples are not the temples of your own civilization one hundred centuries from now, tumbled and broken? You do not know. Then don't ask.

Any time now, Mr. Forrester will think it over and see it's just the only way and have a good cry and then look around and see it's morning again, even though it's five in the afternoon.

The zipper displaces the button, and a man lacks just that much time to think while dressing at dawn, a philosophical hour, and this a melancholy hour.

C'était exactement ce qu'il désirait pour l'instant. Un signe que le vaste monde l'acceptait et lui offrait le temps nécéssaire pour réfléchir à tout ce qui exigeait reflexion.

He surveyed the lake of grass below, all the dandelions gone, a touch of rust in the trees, and the smell of Egypt blowing from the far east.

Perhaps Time itself was draining off down an immense glass, with powdered darkness falling after to bury all.

the sun goes on, day after day, burning and burning. The sun and time.

All the things in life that were put here to savor, you eliminate. Save time, save work, you say." He nudged the grass trays disrespectfully. "Bill, when you're my age, you'll find out it's the little savors and little things that count more than big ones. A walk on a spring morning is better than an eighty-mile ride in a hopped-up car, you know why? Because it's full of flavors, full of a lot of things growing. You've time to seek and find.

Most of us can't rush around, talk to everyone, know all the cities of the world, we haven't time, money or that many friends. The things are looking for, Montag, are in the world, but the only way the average chap will ever see ninety-nine percent of them is it a book.

So that man, the first one, knew what we know now: our hour is short, eternity is long. With this knowledge came pity and mercy, so we spared others for the later, more intricate, more mysterious benefits of love.

Ask me, then, if I believe in the spirit of the things as they were used, and I'll say yes. They're all here. All the things which had uses. All the mountains which had names. And we'll never be able to use them without feeling uncomfortable. And somehow the mountains will never sound right to us; we'll give them new names, but the old names are there, somewhere in time, and the mountains were shaped and seen under those names.

But one strange wild dark long year, Halloween came early. One year Halloween came on October 24, three hours after midnight. At that time, James Nightshade of 97 Oak Street was thirteen years, eleven months, twenty-three days old. Next door, William Halloway was thirteen years, eleven months and twenty-four days old. Both touched toward fourteen; it almost trembled in their hands. And that was the October week when they grew up overnight, and were never so young any more. . .

Saule dedzina katru dienu. T? dedzina Laiku. Pasaule ri??o pa apli un ap savu asi, bet Laiks dedzina gadus un cilv?kus t?pat, bez vi?a l?dzdal?bas. Ja vi?š l?dz ar citiem dedzin?t?jiem dedzin?s cilv?ka roku rad?to, bet saule dedzin?s Laiku, tad ta?u nekas nepaliks p?ri!

Funny, how funny, not to remember where or when you met your husband or wife.

My uncle says the architects got rid of the front porches because they didn't look well. But my uncle says that was merely rationalizing it; the real reason, hidden underneath, might be they didn't want people sitting like that, doing nothing, rocking, talking; that was the wrong kind of social life. People talked too much. And they had time to think.

He almost turned back to make the walk again, to give her time to appear. He was certain if he tried the same route, everything would work out fine. But it was late, and the arrival of his train put a stop to his plan.

The old man looked as if he had not been out of the house in years. He and the white plaster walls inside were much the same. There was white in the flesh of his mouth and his cheeks and his hair was white and his eyes had faded, with white in the vague blueness there.