Quotes About Time

May your first day in hell last ten thousand years, and may it be the shortest.

Time continued to pass - the oldest trick in the world, and maybe the only one that really is magic.

Our time here is brief, our risk enormous. Don't waste the one or increase the other, if you please.

Time was a face on the water, and like the great river before them, it did nothing but flow.

No great thing is created suddenly.

The terror, which would not end for another 28 years-if it ever did end-began, so far as I know or can tell, with a boat made from a sheet of newspaper floating down a gutter swollen with rain.

Time apparently did nothing but blunt grief's sharpest edge so that it hacked rather than sliced.

Superstition, like true love, needs time to grow and reflect upon itself.

We each owe a death, there are no exceptions, I know that, but sometimes, oh God, the Green Mile is so long.

Time is the water, Charlie. Life is just the bridge it flows under.

It doesn't have to be the last good time. But sooner or later the last good time would come around. It does for all of us.

When an old man dies, a library burns.

Ka works and the world moves on.

Why do you keep looking back there? the guy in charge had asked. From time to time I need an antidote, Eddie said. From what? Your face.

We're all dying. The world's just a hospice with fresh air.

But who knows how long a grief may last? Isn't it possible that, even thirty or forty years after the death of a child or a brother or a sister, one may half waken, thinking of that person with the same lost emptiness, that feeling of places which may never be filled... not even in death?

Everything goes away, Jack Sawyer, like the moon. Everything comes back, like the moon.

It's funny how close the past is, sometimes. Sometimes it seems as if you could almost reach out and touch it. Only who really wants to?

So do we pass the ghosts that haunt us later in our lives; they sit undramatically by the roadside like poor beggars, and we see them only from the corners of our eyes, if we see them at all. The idea that they have been waiting there for us rarely if ever crosses our minds. Yet they do wait, and when we have passed, they gather up their bundles of memory and fall in behind, treading in our footsteps and catching up, little by little.

And, of course, one of the great true facts of the world is this: for every old-timer who dies, there's a new old-timer coming along. And a good story never dies; it is always passed down.

If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the tools to write.

Time slowed and reality bent; on and on the eggman went.

Just promise me you'll stop every once in a while and acknowledge the day, honey. It's the only one you'll have until tomorrow.

History doesn't repeat itself, but it harmonizes, and what it usually makes is the devil's music.