Quotes About Time

There are probably only a certain number of people who can understand or tolerate how long a job will take and what demands it puts on you. And why should they? It breeds a strange kind of selfishness immersing yourself in a character for so long.

Seven years without a break really takes a toll on you, and you don't even realize it. You're affected by other people, and after a while, sometimes they have love for you, and sometimes they don't.

Starting a new business will take its toll on your time and energy, and this can place strain on family and social relationships, depending on their expectations and how open you are in your communication with them.

You never know how long a player has left, especially with strikers. Once you turn 30, as a striker, you are usually on the way down, and playing from the age of 16, at such a high level, has to take its toll.

But obviously captaincy is a long process. It takes its toll as time goes on.

It's a different thing to write a love story now than in the time of Jane Austen, Eliot, or Tolstoy. One of the problems is that once divorce is possible, once break-ups are possible, it can all become a little less momentous.

Tolstoy may not be showing that much of Russia at that time even. It's hard to tell. You tend to associate the quality of the period with what's lasted - what's still good. And that quality becomes the whole period.

I was the muse of Tom Ford and Gucci for years, but that was a long time ago.

As he grew older, his material was just as relevant and just as exciting and the band's just as killer... It seems surreal that there's no more Tom Petty, in person.

matter how well you take care of the dying, no matter if you sit beside them every minute, every day—in the end they must go, and you stay.

Time and quiet, everyone counseled, would help. Best not to mention it. Best not to dwell on it, his mother had said. It was a terrible accident. It must have been hot. Windows were open at the time. And time would heal. Somethings were better left unsaid.

There was nothing to do and not enough time to do nothing in.

Like voices humming along a telegraph wire, Evie thought. That was how to teach it. One could rest one's hand upon the past, feel the vibrato, one could close one's eyes, lean low and listen hard. If you were paying attention, one could hear the voices underneath the past. And that was time.

How quickly the world plows us under, she thought with a pang. For two generations, maybe three, we lived on. After that, we're nothing more than a name, or—her eye fell on one of Great-Aunt Minerva's chairs standing like a sentry against the wall—a part of the furniture.

Ogden Moss Milton Nov. 11, 1899–Oct. 4, 1980 Katherine Milton May 4, 1905–Sept. 10, 1988 Ogden Moss Milton Jr. March 17, 1930–Aug. 22, 1959 Evelyn Milton Pratt April 18, 1937–March 24, 2017

Wars, plagues, names upon tombs tell us only what happened. But history lies in the cracks between

On my first day in London I made an early start. Reaching the Public Record Office not much after ten, I soon secured the papers I needed for my research and settled in my place. I became, as is the way of the scholar, so deeply absorbed as to lose all consciousness of my surroundings or of the passage of time. When at last I came to myself, it was almost eleven and I was quite exhausted: I knew I could not prudently continue without refreshment.

The difference between old and new money is, after all, purely relative: it just depends on when you start counting.

Some things don't last forever, but some things do. Like a good song, or a good book, or a good memory you can take out and unfold in your darkest times, pressing down on the corners and peering in close, hoping you still recognize the person you see there.

It's all in the view. That's what I mean about forever, too. For any one of us our forever could end in an hour, or a hundred years from now. You never know for sure, so you'd better make every second count.

So many times it seemed like there were chances to stop things before they started. Or even stop them in midstream. But it was even worse when you knew in that very moment that there was still time to save yourself, and yet you couldn't even budge.

Some things don't last forever, but some things do. Like a good song, or a good book, or a good memory you can take out and unfold in your darkest times, pressing down on the corners and peering in close, hoping you still recognize the person you see there.

Music is a total constant. That's why we have such a strong visceral connection to it, you know? Because a song can take you back instantly to a moment, or a place, or even a person. No matter what else has changed in your or the world, that one song says the same, just like that moment.

It's all in the view. That's what I mean about forever, too. For any one of us our forever could end in an hour, or a hundred years from now. You never know for sure, so you'd better make every second count.