Quotes About Time

Pero me consolé pensando que sólo tenían derecho a la decadencia quienes habían conocido el esplendor.

There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the floud leads on to fortune ommitted, all the voyage of their lives are bound in shallows and in miseries

Some wounds go so deep that you don't even feel them until months, maybe years, later.

Love happened. Love came to show you that you could be more than you could ever imagine, because love forced you out of the narrows of yourself and thrust you into a vastness that stretched from one end of time to the other. Nothing mattered except being in the presence of love, the greatest beauty of all.

There was an end to weeping. Mourning, however, ebbed and surged but never ceased flowing.

The older we get the more we seem to think that everything was better in the past.

Buddy and Angela keep track of daytime just by figuring out the last and next time they will come together and how long alone. They become the heated habit of each other.

A person doesn't mourn forever.

Each morning, before Jackie started her studies, she wrote on a clean piece of paper: Tarde venientibus ossa. To the latecomers are left the bones.

Ybon was the one who suggested calling the wait something else. Yeah, like what? Maybe, she said, you could call it life.

Maybe we were together some other time. I can't think when, I said. You tried not to look at me. Maybe five million years ago. People weren't even people back then.

The whole culture is telling you to hurry, while the art tells you to take your time. Always listen to the art.

You go to more doctors. You celebrate Arlenny's Ph.D. defense. And then one June night you scribble the ex's name and: The half life of love is forever.

Trauma is a time traveller, an ouroboros that reaches back and devours everything that came before.

We're clocks, Abelard. Nothing more.

You have to decide where and when, you said. If you leave it up to me I'll want to see you every day.

But she was the kind of girlfriend God gives you young, so you'll know loss the rest of your life.

We're committed to the idea that a book has to live in the present . . . but the reality, that's hard for us to recognise, is that a book has to live in the future.

Tarde venientibus ossa.)

He wrote that he couldn't believe he'd had to wait for this so goddamn long. (Ybón was the one who suggested calling the wait something else. Yeah, like what? Maybe, she said, you could call it life.)

She was the kind of girlfriend that god gives you young, so that you'll know loss the rest of your life.

Tarde venientibus ossa. To the latecomers are left the bones.

Maybe it was loss or love or some other word hat we say when it's too fucking late.

When you're sixteen a body like this is free; when you're forty it's a full-time occupation.