Quotes About Time

I watched your snapshot fade for twenty years.

Her life began to seem long. Her adrenalin was running out. Soon she would be thirty, and all she could see ahead was more of the same.

Any death is stupid from the viewpoint of whoever is undergoing it, Adam One used to say, because no matter how much you've been warned, Death always comes without knocking. Why now? is the cry. Why so soon? It's the cry of a child being called home at dusk, it's the universal protest against Time. Just remember, dear Friends: What am I living for and what am I dying for are the same question. // The Year of the Flood

of course you'll die but not yet, you'll outlive even my distortions of you

there goes this day, down to where all the other days have gone, each one carrying something away with it.

How long will you demand I love you?

Waiting is also a place: it is wherever you wait. For me it's this room. I am a blank, here, between parentheses. Between other people The knock comes at my door. Cora, with the tray.

This is one of the things I wasn't prepared for—the amount of unfilled time, the long parentheses of nothing.

Who are you, my reader? And when are you? Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps fifty years from now, perhaps never.

I wish to show you the darkness you are so afraid of. Trust me. This darkness is a place you can enter and be as safe in as you are anywhere; you can put one foot in front of the other and believe the sides of your eyes. Memorize it. You will know it again in your own time. When the appearances of things have left you, you will still have this darkness. Something of your own you can carry with you.

O, lente, lente currite noctis equi!

time, what a bankrupt idea, as if he's been given a box of time belonging to him alone, stuffed to the brim with hours and minutes that he can spend like money. Trouble is, the box has holes in it and the time is running out, no matter what he does with it.

His letters always begin without greeting and end without signature, as if they're part of one single letter, unrolling through time like an endless paper towel.

God cannot be held to the narrowness of literal and materialistic interpretations, nor measured by Human measurements, for His days are eons, and a thousand ages of our time are like an evening to Him.

Having long ago whispered I want to die, I now realize that this wish will indeed be fulfilled, and sooner rather than later. No matter that I've changed my mind about it. I

You don't look back along time but down through it, like water. Sometimes this comes to the surface, sometimes that, sometimes nothing. Nothing goes away.

The more difficult it was to love the particular man beside us, the more we believed in Love, abstract and total. We were waiting, always, for the incarnation. That word, made flesh. And sometimes it happened, for a time. That kind of love comes and goes and is hard to remember afterwards, like pain. You would look at the man one day and you would think, I loved you, and the tense would be past

After the wolvogs have gone he lies on his back on the platform, gazing up at the stars through the gently moving leaves. They seem close, the stars, but they're far away. Their light is millions, billions of years out of date. Messages with no sender.

Everything in this town is retro, which accounts for the large supply of black vintage items in Accessories. The past is so much safer, because whatever's in it has already happened. It can't be changed; so, in a way, there's nothing to dread. She

Are you an evening bird Watching the moon Singing Alone, Alone, Singing Dead Too Soon?

For so much time, our history was written in bones only.

Break the link in time between one generation and the next, and it's game over forever.

L'essere sana di mente è un patrimonio che accumulo come un tempo la gente accumulava il denaro. Lo tengo da parte, per quando sarà il momento.

Time passed. I gardened, I read, and so on. I had already begun—in a modest way, and beginning with a few pieces of animal jewellery from Richard—the trade in second-hand artifacts that, as it turned out, would stand me in good stead in the coming decades. A semblance of normality had been installed. But unshed tears can turn you rancid. So can memory. So can biting your tongue. My bad nights were beginning. I couldn't sleep.