Quotes About Time

It makes me wonder, Do we spend most of our days trying to remember or forget things? Do we spend most of our time running towards or away from our lives? I don't know.

She let herself love me for three minutes. Can three minutes last forever? I ask myself, but already know the answer. Probably not, I reply. But maybe they last long enough.

We skip the moments like stones.

The days and nights come apart. I feel them corroding at the seams.

I also fear that nothing really ends at the end. Things just keep going as long as memory can wield its ax, always finding a soft part in your mind to cut through and enter.

It's funny, don't you think, how time seems to do a lot of things? It flies, it tells, and worst of all, it runs out.

As it turned out, Ilsa Hermann not only gave Liesel Meminger a book that day. She also gave her a reason to spend time in the basement, her favorite place, first with Papa, then Max. She gave her a reason to write her own words, to see that words had also brought her to life. Don't punish yourself, she heard her say again, but there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness, too. That was writing.

My own eyes try to sleep, but they don't. They stay wide awake as time snarls forward and silence drops down, like measured thought.

Time will tell, I suppose, or at least, these pages will.

People observe the colours of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations, with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colours.

He was hanging from one of the rafters in a laundry up near Frau Diller's. Another human pendulum. Another clock, stopped.

I told her I loved the howling sound of her harmonica. That seemed to be the limit of my courage that night, and even those spoken words had to struggle their way out of my mouth. It's all very well for words to build bridges, but sometimes I think it's a matter of knowing when to do it. Knowing when the time's right.

Los minutos eran crueles. Las horas mortificantes. Durante los momentos de desvelo, sobre él pendía inexorablemente la mano del tiempo, la cual no dudaba en estrujarlo. Le sonreía, lo retorcía y lo dejaba vivir. Qué gran maldad puede encubrir la prolongación de una vida.

Miré, sólo unos segundos. Hacía 22 meses que no veía el mundo exterior. -¿Qué aspecto tenía? - Había estrellas. Me quemaron los ojos.

a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations, with each passing moment.

That makes two weeks. Two weeks to change the world, and fourteen days to ruin it.

A human doesn't have a heart like mine. The human heart is a line, whereas my own is a circle, and i have the endless ability to be in the right place at the right time. The consequence of this is that i'm always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty, and i wonder how the same thing can be both. Still, they have one thing i envy. Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die

People observe the colors of a day at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quiet clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations, with each passing moment.

Now he turned on to the side street, making his way to number thirty-three, resisting the urge to smile, resisting the urge to sob or even imagine the safety that might be awaiting him. He reminded himself that this was no time for hope.

The human heart is a line, whereas my own is a circle, and I have the endless ability to be in the right place at the right time. The consequence of this is that I'm always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty, and I wonder how the same thing can be both. Still, they have one thing I envy. Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die.

They were all placed on a conveyor belt and run through a rampant machine that gave them a lifetime in ten minutes. Words were fed into them. Time disappeared and they now knew everything they needed to know. They were hypnotized.

People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment.

If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter and bread with only the scent of jam spread out on top of it. It was the best time of her life. But it was bombing carpet. Make no mistake.

For now, the idea was enough. It was indestructible. Transforming it into reality, well, that was something else altogether. For now, though, let's let him enjoy it. We'll give him seven months. Then we come for him. And oh, how we come.