Quotes About Time

When you're young, you feel like life hasn't yet begun, like life is scheduled to begin next week, next month, next year, after the holidays - whenever. But suddenly you're old, and the scheduled life never arrived. I find myself asking, 'Well, then, exactly what was it I was doing with all that time I had before I thought my life would begin?

And the reason Luke is thinking about time and free will is because he believes that money is the closest human beings have ever come to crystallizing time and free will into a compact physical form. Cash. Cash is a time crystal. Cash allows you to multiply your will, and it allows you to speed up time. Cash is what defines us as a species. Nothing else in the universe has money.

Douglas Coupland

Because in the end we forget everything, anyway. We're human; we're amnesia machines.

I believe that you've had most of your important memories by the time you're thirty. After that, memory becomes water overflowing into an already full cup.

I once read that for every person currently alive on earth, there are nineteen dead people who have lived before us. That's not that much really. Our existence as a species on earth has been so short. We forget that.

It's what makes us different from every other creature in the world - we have time. And we have choices

Chronotropic Drugs: Drugs engineered to affect one's sense of time. Chronodecelocotropic drugs have no short term effect but over time give one the impression that time feels longer. Chronoaccelocotropic drugs have the opposite effect.

Wow. Whoops. Sorry. ... I just lost two hours inside a YouTube kitten warp.

And once again, work is providing us with a comforting sense of normalcy-living and working inside of coding's predictably segmented time/space. Simply grinding away at something makes life feel stable, even though the external particulars of life (like our pay checks, our office, and so forth) are, at best, random.

IT WAS AN ASTONISHINGLY forgettable day—a Tuesday?—one of those days that come and go, and then at the end of your life you wonder, Man, did I really piss away my life with an endless series of wasted Tuesdays?

HISTORICAL UNDERDOSING: To live in a period of time when nothing seems to happen. Major symptoms include addiction to newspapers, magazines, and TV news broadcasts. ¶ HISTORICAL OVERDOSING: To live in a period of time when too much seems to happen. Major symptoms include addiction to newspapers, magazines, and TV news broadcasts.

You could return to that same hive a thousand years later and there would be just the same perception of tomorrow as never being any different. Humans are completely different. We assume tomorrow is another world.

I don't think human beings were meant to know so much about the world. All this time and all this exposure to every conceivable aspect of life—wisdom so rarely enters the picture. We barely have enough time to figure out who we are and then we become bitter and isolated as we age.

Fortune makes promises to many, keeps them to none. Live for each day, live for the hours, since nothing is forever yours.

If one death could delay the event by only five minutes … what flowers might therefore bloom? We were all doomed anyway.

It's not like Father to be late

An old poet, Robert Herrick, put it like this:    " Our life is short, and our days run As fast away as does the sun; And, as a vapour or a drop of rain Once lost, can ne'er be found again.

God give me chastity, but not right now.

Bah! The infirmities of age. What a bore. We gain honors, age, and wealth, and then just when we're ready to enjoy them, Father Time comes swooping down and screws up our bodies. Pulvis et umbra sumus and all that.

Finally she spoke."We don't have much time." She paused, looking at him steadily. "I need to tell you something, Tom." "What?" "It seems I've fallen in love with you." Reality returned with sudden clarity. Tom couldn't quite speak. She went on briskly. "Anyway, there—now it's said." "But what about—?" "Julian?

It took a good two or three minutes for the water to work its way down through the canopy and reach us on the ground—

He was aware the man had suffered a deeply emotional trauma when his young companion, Constance, had abandoned him and used the machine to launch herself back in time.

And as Coldmoon closed the door behind him, he could still hear the faint sound of Pendergast's laughter—dulcet, melodious, yet infinitely sad—as he maintained his sanity by skipping from one tiny sliver of time to another, between the beat of a hummingbird's wings.