Quotes About Time

It was no longer her absence that wounded me, but my growing indifference to it. Forgetting, however calming, was also a reminder of infidelity to what I had at one time held so dear.

I had a friend once who looked at his library and discovered that even if he completely stopped filmmaking (he was a filmmaker too) and just decided to read the books he had in his library, it would take him until he was 100 years old. He was a little bit panicked. But he was courageous. He went out of his house. He went to the bookstore. And he bought ten books.

The writer must proudly consent to bear his own date, knowing that there are no masterpieces in eternity, but only works in history, and that they survive only to the degree that they have left the past behind them and heralded the future.

Anesthetized by youth, I missed it.

Je?li do?yjesz stu lat, to ja chce ?y? sto lat minus jeden dzie?, ?ebym nigdy nie musia? ?y? bez ciebie.

According to conviction, I am not simply what I am doing now. I am also what I have done, and my conventionally edited version of my past is made to seem almost more the real me than what I am at this moment. For what I am seems so fleeting and intangible, but what I was is fixed and final. It is the firm basis for predictions of what I will be in the future, and so it comes about that I am more closely identified with what no longer exists than with what actually is

How do I define history? It's just one fucking thing after another

The days weren't long enough for the reading she wanted to do.

History is just one fucking thing after another.

The key is not to prioritize what's on your schedule, but to schedule your priorities."  - Dr. Stephen Covey

Busyness is not a reason for not getting other things done. It is an excuse for not claiming your true priorities.

Look at him he's just now getting ready and dressed and its 6 fucking minutes to the show! God fucking musicians.

If everyone is asleep in bed and it's dark and something happens, then that event is deemed to have taken place in The Middle Of The Night.

Writing allows me the time to travel and see the world, which is what I always wanted to do. I'd really like to have been Sir Richard Francis Burton, but it's the wrong century.

The low sky was oppressive, the color of ashes, as it would be for a long time

It made her—a bizarre trick—long for a past that was still in the future.

Without the daily texture of existence to occupy it, he learned, the human soul wavers, wanders, begins to feed upon itself, and, in time, disintegrates.

For at the very moment you have Now, it flees. It is gone. It is, on the instant, Then. Surely.

It was one of those imponderables of existence that months, even years, can go by without anything significant happening, and then suddenly a cluster of hours comes along or even minutes, that can blow a hole in time a mile wide

Samira had been walking for hours. It was almost dawn—that strange time when it's still dark but the birds wake up and the forest comes to life with the scuttling of little animals. The air was sharp and cool, and dew glistened on the grass. Any minute now, the sun would peek up over the horizon, turning the blue-gray sky orange. And Samira would be too late. She was weary, but hope, fear, worry kept her moving.

It was the time of year when the atmosphere streamed with unexpected hints and memories, and a paradoxical sense of renewal.

He was asking for memories, too young himself to know that memories were only memories of memories.

That photo was taken in Bialystok, Poland, sometime around 1725.

Si alguien te robara el dinero como te roban el tiempo, pondrías el grito en el cielo, lo perseguirías y entablarías una acción judicial contra él. El dinero puede reemplazarse pero el tiempo no. Tontos que somos, dejamos que nos roben este artículo tan preciado y tan único, y no hacemos nada para evitarlo.