Quotes About Time

Time and memory are true artists; they remould reality nearer to the heart's desire.

hear you don't believe I know enough to hold office. I wish you to understand that I am thinking about something or other most of the time.

We always live at the time we live and not at some other time, and only by extracting at each present time the full meaning of each present experience are we prepared for doing the same thing in the future.

If you stood motionless in the stream of time, listening to crying voices out of the past, you might presently believe that your feelings or your neighbour's were of puny significance because they had been experienced so often before and would be experienced again when you had gone. Whereas they did matter; they were the only reality; there was no shame in feeling the hurt.

Yesternight the sun went hence,And yet is here today.

No spring, nor summer beauty hath such grace,As I have seen in one autumnal face.

Busy old fool, unruly Sun,Why dost thou thus,Through windows, and through curtains call on us?Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?

'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's.

Now God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the sun at noon to illustrate all shadows, as the sheaves in harvest, to fill all penuries, all occasions invite his mercies, and all times are his seasons.

The day breaks not: it is my heart.

True and false fears let us refrain, Let us love nobly, and live, and add again Years and years unto years, till we attain To write threescore: this is the second of our reign.

Only our love hath no decay; This no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday, Running it never runs from us away, But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.

Love is a growing, or full constant light, And his first minute, after noon, is night.

TIS the year's midnight, and it is the day's, Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks ; The sun is spent, and now his flasks Send forth light squibs, no constant rays ; The world's whole sap is sunk ; The general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk, Whither, as to the bed's-feet, life is shrunk, Dead and interr'd ; yet all these seem to laugh, Compared with me, who am their epitaph.

O how feeble is man's power, That if good fortune fall, Cannot add another hour, Nor a lost hour recall! But come bad chance, And we join to'it our strength, And we teach it art and length, Itself o'er us to'advance.

BUSY old fool, unruly Sun, Why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains, call on us? Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ? Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide Late school-boys and sour prentices, Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride, Call country ants to harvest offices ; Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

BUSY old fool, unruly Sun, Why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?

Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore My love was infinite, if spring makes it more.

What poore Elements are our happinesses made off, if Tyme, Tyme which wee can scarce consider to be any thing, be an essential part of our happines?

For the first twenty years, since yesterday, I scarce believed thou could'st be gone away; For forty more, I fed on favors past, And forty' on hopes, that thou would'st they might last. Tears drowned one hundred, and sighs blew out two; A thousand, I did neither think, nor do, Or not divide, all being one thought of you; Or, in a thousand more, forget that too. Yet call not this, long life, but think that I Am, by being dead, immortal; can ghosts die?

I sing the progress of a deathless soul, Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not control, Placed in most shapes; all times before the law Yoked us, and when, and since, in this I sing. And the great world to his aged evening, From infant morn, through manly noon I draw.

Though she were true when you met her. and last till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two, or three.

Why won't they let a year die without bringing in a new one on the instant, can't they use birth control on time? I want an interregnum. The stupid years patter on with unrelenting feet, never stopping — rising to little monotonous peaks in our imaginations at festivals like New Year's and Easter and Christmas — But, goodness, why need they do it?

Youth should watch joys and shoot them as they fly.