Quotes About Time

And money you have, Rose. Plenty of it. And time. And if time can't give us freedom to do what we want, what good is time?

The awareness of happiness comes after, in memory, with the belated appreciation of the moment.

Don't ever think that two is enough," Benedict said. "Don't ever imagine it. And don't ever be crippled by believing that you cannot live without one other being, and only that being. You must have more than that to love, because loving, loving keeps us alive, loving is our best defense against time, and time is merciless. Time is a monster. Time devours everything.

She's an era for you, an era of your life. If and when you break with her, you break with the only one alive who has shared that time with you. You fear that, the isolation of it, the burden, the scope of eternal life.

We have the future now," she whispered. "Does it matter that we've wasted so many opportunities to meet in the past?

What had really given birth to the Romantic Movement in the history of human ideas was affluence—an increase in the number of people who had plenty enough to eat, enough education to read and write, and time to ruminate on their own personal emotions.

We don't think about that enough. We spend too much time cursing time—time waits for no man, time will tell, oh, the ravages of time, time flies! We don't think about the gift of time. Time gives us the chance to make mistakes and correct them, to regenerate, to grow. Time gives us the chance to forgive, to restore, to do better than we have ever done in the past. Time gives us the chance to be sorry when we fail and the chance to try to discover in ourselves a new heart.

You are living in a blessed time now, Reuben, and you will be until all those you love here are gone, until your generation is in the earth. Then immortality will begin for you.

A finely carved Black Forest cuckoo clock hung just to the right of the hutch. Phil would love that, Reuben thought. Phil had once collected cuckoo clocks, and their constant chiming and tweeting and cooing had driven everybody at home a little nuts.

Surely time can take away such love. What a curse if it can't." "It can't." I said.

The great adventure of our lives. What does it mean to die when you can live until the end of the world? And what is 'the end of the world' except a phrase, because who knows even what is the world itself?

Z ponurych proroków wieków minionych nowy wiek uczyniÅ' gÅ'upców

He was too fascinated with this ghost of Magnus. So many questions came to his mind: "Can you eat, can you drink, can you make love, can you taste?" "No," said Magnus, "but I can see very well, and I can feel hot and cold in a pleasurable way, and I have a sense of being here, being alive, occupying this space, being tangible, and having a tempo in time.…

I thought the curse of memory is this: Everything is ever present.

And you called me mad, time's martyr, a vagrant Cassandra corrupted by too long a vigil on this earth.

The beginning is no longer important. What matters is that the end may be at hand.

What am I? Do I live? Or am I walking always in death, forever in love with time?

You must have more than that to love, because loving, loving keeps us alive, loving is our best defense against time, and time is merciless. Time is a monster. Time devours everything.

Because if God doesn't exist we are the creatures of highest consciousness in the universe. We alone understand the passage of time and the value off every minute of human life. And what constitutes evil, real evil, is the taking of a single human life. Whether a man would have died tomorrow or the day after or eventually . . . it doesn't matter. Because if God does not exist, this life . . . every second of it . . . is all we have.

It's always the young ones who end it. The ones for whom mortality holds magic. As we grow older it's eternity that is our boon.

Then no sin matters,' he said. 'No sin achieves evil.' 'That's not true. Because if God doesn't exist we are the creatures of highest consciousness in the universe. We alone understand the passage of time and the value of every minute of human life. And what constitutes evil, real evil, is the taking of a single human life. Whether a man would have died tomorrow or the day after or eventually...it doesn't matter. Because if God does not exist, this life...every second of it...is all we have.

As time passed, Michael lost a little faith that he would ever have the love he wanted.

The tale can't be told without one link being connected to the other and we poor orphans of ticking time know no other means of measure than those of sequence.

Just as sure as this flesh is pink, it will turn gray, wrinkled with age