Quotes About Time

Decision making, like coffee, needs a cooling process.

No pecuniary consideration is more urgent, than the regular redemption and discharge of the public debt: on none can delay be more injurious, or an economy of time more valuable. ~Message to the House of Representatives, 3 December 1793

How long must a man lie dead," he recited, puzzled by the words that came out of him. "Forever is too long. There must be mercy somewhere.

A man is best known, understood, measured, even valued, not by his settled conclusions, but by the dilemmas he keeps. They are the best markers of fleeting truth on the perverse road of time.

I imagine myself covered with blood, broken but transfigured and in agreement with the world, both as prey and as a jaw of time, which ceaselessly kills and is ceaselessly killed.

To put it more precisely, since language is by definition the expression of civilised man, violence is silent. Civilisation and language grew as though violence was something outside. But silence cannot do away with things that language cannot state. Violence is as stubbornly there just as much as death, and if language cheats to conceal universal annihilation, the placid work of time, language alone suffers, language is the poorer, not time and not violence.

One day or another, it is true, dust, supposing it persists, will probably begin to gain the upper hand over domestics, invading the immense ruins of abandoned buildings, deserted dockyards; and, at that distant epoch, nothing will remain to ward off night-terrors, for lack of which we have become such great book-keepers...

From incoherent barkings of desire, man can advance to distinct speech now that, labelling the object with a name, he is able to make an implicit connection between the material it is made of and the work required to get it from the old state to the new in which it is ready for use. Thenceforth language firmly anchors the object in the stream of time.

El tiempo no significa más que la huida de los objetos que parecían verdaderos.

if I did not love death my suffering my desire for you would kill me your absence your distress make me nauseous it's time for me to love death it's time to bite its hands

Who, on seeing a Parisian apartment house, has never thought of it as indestructible? A bomb, a fire, an earthquake could certainly bring it down, but what else? In the eyes of an individual, of a family, or even a dynasty, a town, street, or house seems unchangeable, untouchable by time, by the ups and downs of human life, to such an extent that we believe we can compare and contrast the fragility of our condition to the invulnerability of stone.

Ölümün için her ÅŸey çoktan haz?r: Seni öldürecek top güllesi çok uzun zaman önceden eritilip döküldü, tabutunun peÅŸinden aÄŸlayacak olan kad?nlar çoktan tutuldu.

why count the buses? probably because they're recognizable and regular:they cut up time, they punctuate the background noise; ultimately, they're foreseeable

Busco a un tiempo lo eterno y lo efímero

Time, which sees to everything, has provided the solution, despite yourself. Time, that knows the answer, has continued to flow. It is on a day like this one, a little later, a little earlier, that everything starts again, that everything starts, that everything continues

Ne plus rien vouloir. Attendre jusqu'à ce qu'il n'y ait plus rien à attendre. [...] Ce sera devant toi, au fil du temps, une vie immobile, sans crise, sans désordre : nulle aspérité, nul déséquilibre. Minute après minute, heure après heure, jour après jour, saison après saison [...]

No tengo otra opción que evocar lo que demasiado tiempo llamé lo irrevocable; lo que fue, lo que se detuvo, lo que fue clausurado: eso que sin duda fue para no ser más hoy, pero que fue también para que yo sea todavía

El tiempo que vela todo, ha dado la solución a tu pesar. El tiempo, que conoce la respuesta, ha seguido transcurriendo. En un día como éste, algo más tarde o más temprano, todo vuelve a empezar, todo empieza , todo continúa. Deja de hablar como un hombre que sueña.

It is the twenty-third of June nineteen seventy-five, and it is eight o'clock in the evening. Seated at his jigsaw puzzle, Bartlebooth has just died.

I seek the eternal and the ephemeral.

On dirait que les projets de joie sont un défi.Trop longuement préparés,ils laissent le temps à la detinée de changer les oeufs dans le nid,et ce sont les chagrins qui nous faudra couver.

He felt alone, prey to the tedium, to the dreariness of time, especially at the approach of twilight which, during those late-autumn days, came in through the windows, settling on the furniture with a leaden pallor, sending the mirrors into mourning at light's farewell ...

He didn't reply. He would have given a lot to share that improvised meal, those potatoes cooked under ash, those sausages browned by time, that wine that appeared so refreshing!

It showed 9.30. In Paris, on Boulevard Richard-Lenoir, if spring had also come at last, Madame Maigret in her dressing gown and slippers would have opened the windows and tidied the bedroom while a stew simmered on the stove.