Quotes About Time

If you want one year of happiness, grow grain. If you want 10 years of happiness, grow trees. If you want 100 years of happiness, grow people.

She tried to think about anachronism—what it means in literature, what it indicates about our confusion regarding the nature of space, our own persistent perishing—but found she was unable to hold on to the thought.

Everything is so temporary, she thought, so unrooted, and any one of us can just stand up and leave. She tried to imagine the world, even just one square mile of it, from the point of view of God—the appearances and vanishings, the abandoned objects, doors left open in haste—how it must look over centuries, but she felt her breath catch in her throat.

I wish memory were a more steady, more physical artifact. It's just a breeze, or a scent barely detected and fading.

The Universe in a Nutshell

People who design machines and airplanes {or buildings}, no matter how much they believe that what they do is good, the winds of time eventually turn them into tools of industrial civilization. They're cursed dreams. Animation, too. Beautiful yet cursed dreams.

Producing an animation series merely to fill time slots in the broadcast schedule is like generating cultural pollution.

The winds of time eventually turn them into the tools of industrial civillisation. It's never unscathed.

Once you've met someone you really never forget them; it just takes a while for your memory to return

please find me in the future

Historians are concerned with events which can be assigned to specific timespace locations, events which are (or were) in principle observable or perceivable, whereas imaginative writers – poets, novelists, playwrights – are concerned with both these kinds of events and imagined, hypothetical, or invented ones.

the way Emily Dickinson meant when she wrote, "That it will never come again / Is what makes life so sweet.

While time may not heal, it does give you perspective.

How we spend our days, of course, is how we spend our lives." There

If they wanted to have time to read a book in the evenings, that was as important as any of Napoleon's ambitions. Because what a triumph it was for any woman to have time for herself—and to be able to do something that benefitted her imagination alone.

But she would never have set eyes on him or given him the time of day if he hadn't become filthy rich. His money had indeed bought him love. Given what he had seen of the world, the exchange of love for money seemed to be one of the commodities that never wavered - it was as dependable an investment as electricity.

That was desire messing with physics: putting its finger on the record and then slowing it down, making sure you heard every word spoken, and memorized it.

Wenn die Philosophie ihr Grau in Grau malt, dann ist eine Gestalt des Lebens alt geworden, und mit Grau in Grau läßt sie sich nicht verjüngen, sondern nur erkennen; die Eule der Minerva beginnt erst mit der einbrechenden Dämmerung ihren Flug.

In nature, time is the now. The past and the future of time, taken as existent in nature, are space.

When philosophy paints its gray on gray, then has a form of life grown old, and with gray on gray it cannot be rejuvenated, but only known; the Owl of Minerva first takes flight with twilight closing in.

It gives time, we are not dealing with statements that are always fixed in the sentence structure of the subject-predicate relation. And yet, how else are we to bring the It into view which we say when we say It gives Being, It gives time? Simply by think-' ing the It in the light ofthe kind ofgiving that belongs to it: giving as destiny, giving as an opening up which reaches out. Both belong together, inasmuch as the former, destiny, lies in the latter, extending opening up

If you want to birth the miraculous you cannot afford to waste time getting offended. Offense stops you carrying the promise to full term and you never really know what God plans to do with a situation that offends you at first.

it doesn't count, like time spent in Brooklyn

But that age … exerts on us An almost terrible charm, Like the memory of things seen And a life lived in dreams.