Quotes About Time

Having little to do with the present, Mr. Beaton had plenty of room for the past. Oh, yes, he read the papers and knew that governments came and went (Conservative, Labor, Sociopath, Mr. Beaton would chuckle), but that made no odds to him.

your neocortex is the part of your brain that tracks time.

Young humans can be impulsive. The trick is keeping them around long enough to become old humans.

It's time to turn judgment into compassion. Pain into healing. Hate into forgiveness. Because when you forgive someone, you release yourself as well.

They're always looking forward to going places they're just coming back from, or regretting doing things they haven't yet done. They say hello when they mean goodbye.

Sometimes I feel that life is passing me by, not slowly either, but with ropes of steam and spark-spattered wheels and a hoarse roar of power or terror. It's passing, yet I'm the one who's doing all the moving. I'm not the station, I'm not the stop: I'm the train. I'm the train.

The future could go this way, that way. The future's futures have never looked so rocky. Don't put money on it. Take my advice and stick to the present. It's the real stuff, the only stuff, it's all there is, the present, the panting present.

It was the tiredness of time lived, with its days and days. It was the tiredness of gravity- gravity, which wants you down in the center of the earth.

Richard's bookshelves weren't alphabetized. He never had time to alphabetize them. He was always too busy- looking for books he couldn't find.

But before we face experience, that miserable enemy, let us have some more innocence, just for a while.

Time, the human dimension, which makes us everything we are.

Like writing, paintings seem to hint at a topsy-turvy world in which, so to speak, time's arrow moves the other way.

Life does rhyme: it rhymes all the time.

Suicide is what everyone young thinks they'll do before they get old. But they hardly ever get round to it. They just don't want to commit themselves in that way. When you're young and you look ahead, time ends in mist at twenty-five. 'Old won't happen to me', you say. But old does. Oh, old does. Old always gets you in the end.

Beneath the clock was an enormous arrow, on which was printed: Change Here For Eastern Trains. But time had no arrow, not here.

I used to think there was no time like the present. I used to think there was no time but the present. Now I know better—or different, anyway. In the end, the past will always be there. The past is all there is: the present never sticks around for long enough, and the future is anybody's guess. In time, you always have to hand it to the past. It always gets you in the end.

To remember a day would take a day. To remember a year would take a year.

And meanwhile time goes about its immemorial work of making everyone look and feel like shit. You got that? And meanwhile time goes about its immemorial work of making everyone look, and feel, like shit.

The past weaves all around this; we still duck in and out of its lost but shimmering kingdoms.

He thought, Yeah. Yeah, non-smokers live seven years longer. Which seven will be subtracted by the god called Time? It won't be that convulsive, heart-bursting spell between twenty-eight and thirty-five. No. It'll be that really cool bit between eighty-six and ninety-three.

All rooms are waiting rooms. Your room is a waiting room. You are waiting, I am waiting. Everything is getting nearer to being over.

You shun your spirit,' he murmured, 'every time you agree to sell your days to the city, to measure out your life at the city's pace.

What could never be endured, it turned out, was the last swathe of time before sleep came, the path from larger day to huger night, a little death when the mind was still alive and fluttering. Thus

Tennis: the most perfect combination of athleticism, artistry, power, style, and wit. a beautiful game, but one so remorselessly travestied by the passage of time.