Quotes About Time

The sad truth is that what I could recall in five seconds all too soon needed ten, then thirty, thena full minute...

Time flows in a strange way on Sundays.

Time came slowly and passed slowly, so leisurely that at times he could swear it had stealthily doubled back on itself.

Each and every moment, our bodies are on a one-way journey to collapse and deterioration, unable to turn back the clock. I close my eyes, I open them again, only to realize that in the interim so many things have vanished. Buffeted by the intense midnight winds, these things—some with names, some without—disappear without a trace. All that is left is a faint memory. Even memory, though, can hardly be relied on. Can anyone say for certain what really happened to us back then?

I try imagining myself in forty years, but it's like trying to picture what lies beyond the universe.

As he made his morning coffee, Tengo found himself silently wishing that this peaceful time could go on forever. If he said it aloud, some keen-eared demon somewhere might overhear him. And so he kept his wish for continued tranquility to himself. But things never go the way you want them to, and this was no exception. The world seemed to have a better sense of how you wanted things not to go.

Time. Particles of darkness configured mysterious patterns on my retina. Patterns that degenerated without a sound, only to be replaced by new patterns. Darkness but darkness alone was shifting, like mercury in motionless space. I put a stop to my thoughts and let time pass. Let time carry me along. Carry me to where a new darkness was configuring yet newer patterns.

I had to put my faith in time.

The morning is not my time. Darkness is my friend. A vacuum is my breath. I must be saying goodbye soon.

The passage of time usually extract the venom from most things and render them harmless.

There was a time when my soul was wandering through the deepest darkness…

Our hands were clasped together for ten seconds at most, but to me it felt more like thirty minutes. When she let go of my hand, I was suddenly lost.

If people lived forever—if they never got any older—if they could just go on living in this world, never dying, always healthy—do you think they'd bother to think hard about things, the way were doing now? I mean, we think about its everything, more or less—philosophy, psychology, logic. Religion. Literature. I kinda think, if there were no such t hing as death, the complicated thoughts and ideas like that would never come into the world.

The old temporality is losing its effectiveness and moving into the background. Many people go on mumbling the old words, but in the light of the newly revealed sun, the meanings of words are shifting rapidly and are being renewed. Even supposing that most of the new meanings are temporary things that will persist only through sundown that day, we will be spending time and moving forward with them.

It's not that I don't believe in contemporary literature, he added, but I don't want to waste valuable time reading any book that has not had the baptism of time. Life is too short.

What season?" I asked. "A delayed adolescence, I guess. When I get up in the morning and see my face in the mirror, it looks like someone else's. If I'm not careful, I might end up left behind.

Give me time, I thought, and I can turn out something much better. This may sound arrogant for someone who not long before had never given a thought to writing a novel. It even sounds arrogant to me. In all honesty, though, anyone who lacks that level of arrogance is unlikely to become a novelist.

Por más que escondamos los recuerdos, jamás podemos cambiar lo que ya ha ocurrido.

So this is how it is," I thought. "Time just slips away.

They had stolen my memories from me! Nobody had that right. Nobody! My memories belonged to me. Stealing memories was stealing time. I got so mad, I lost all fear. I didn't care what happened. I want to live! I told myself. I will live. I will get out of this insane netherworld and get back my stolen memories back and live. Forget the end of the world, I was ready to reclaim my whole self.

Nuestra existencia es una sucesión de instantes aprisionados entre el <> que queda a nuestra espalda y la <> que tenemos delante.

You can hide memories, but you can't erase the history that produced them.

Aomame closed her eyes and, in a split second, reviewed the long span of years as if standing on the edge of a sheer cliff, surveying an ocean channel below. She could smell the sea. She could hear the deep sighing of the wind.

Por algún motivo, las palabras adecuadas siempre llegan demasiado tarde.