Quotes About Time

In a hundred years, you get around to thinking about pretty much everything. All the things you did, the people you knew, the mistakes you made. The books you read, the music you listened to, how the sun felt, the rain. It's all still there inside you. But it's not enough, is it? That's the thing. The past is never enough.

Thirty-two minutes for one world to die, another to be born

Now it is dark. Stars soar above the vacant city, heaven's diadem. A century since the last person walked here, and still one cannot travel its streets, as I do, without seeing one's face reflected a thousand-fold.

Demorou uma eternidade e acabou num instante.

So: the end of the line. How slow its approach, how sudden its arrival. We never truly believe it's coming, he thought, and then before we know it, it's here. All the things we've done in our lives, and the undone things as well, extinguished in an instant.

the passage of time itself a kind of marvel

Below lies the dark core, that great iron ball beneath all things. Its compressed weight is fantastic; it is older than time itself. It is a vestige of the blackness that predates all existence, when a formless universe existed in a state of chaotic un-creation, lacking awareness even of itself.

A baby wasn't an idea, as love was an idea. A baby was a fact. It was a being with a mind and a nature, and you could feel about it any way you liked, but a baby wouldn't care. Just by existing, it demanded that you believe in a future: the future it would crawl in, walk in, live in. A baby was a piece of time; it was a promise you made that the world made back to you. A baby was the oldest deal there was, to go on living.

The floor was slick with oil, the blood of the earth, time's distillate, compressed by a planet.

She stood beside me for years, or was it a moment? I cannot remember. Maybe I loved her, Maybe I didn't. There was a house, and then no house. There were trees, but none remain. When no one remembers, what is there? You, whose moments are gone, who drift like smoke in the afterlife, tell me something, tell me anything. -Mark Strand, "In the Afterlife

But Peter knew that over time, even just a few months' worth, this memory would fade, like all the others—like the colors of Auntie's photograph. First the sound of Theo's voice would be lost, and then the picture itself, the details dissolving into visual static until all that remained was an empty space where his brother had been.

There was a deep heartache inside its phrases, but the feeling was expressed with such tenderness that it did not seem sad. It made him think of the way time felt, always falling into the past, becoming memory.

as the years had passed

It happened fast. Thirty-two minutes for one world to die, another to be born.

A baby was a fact. It was a being with a mind and a nature, and you could feel about it any way you liked, but a baby wouldn't care. Just by existing, it demanded that you believe in a future: the future it would crawl in, walk in, live in. A baby was a piece of time; it was a promise you made that the world made back to you.

I have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.' That's T.S. Eliot, in case you were wondering. An oldie but a goodie. When it came to existential exhaustion, the man was one smart cookie.

There may not be time.' Strax said, 'to conduct a full surveillance regime according to prescribed regulations in order to formulate a coherent strategy of the best method to effect entry.' 'That's true,' Madame Vastra agreed. 'So I suggest you simply break down this door.

The only other route was up the stairs. But at the bottom of the main staircase, where perhaps she had been for some time, sat Melissa Heart. She was wearing her angry face.

Bart glared at his old friend. I'm not sure I like the new you, he said ~Take me to the blood tavern..Take me to the vampirate ship..If you don't mind me saying so, buddy, since you died, you've gotten awful bossy.What's the rush anyhow? aren't you immortal now? from where I'm sitting, you've got all the time in the world

A difference in self loathing? Please. The only difference between a gun and a rope is the time it takes to tie the knot.

Instead, Catherine would become associated with the scent of Miss Dior, a perfume launched at the same time as the couture brand.

No one becomes depraved in a moment.

El libro de ensayos sobre la narrativa de Juan García Ponce que venía escribiendo hacía casi un año

The universe is just one big happy tapestry of tangled relationships that can never be unraveled. There is no chair here, butterfly there; particle here, void there; time here, gravity there. There is only the picture that emerges from all pulling together, a great mosaic that seems unrecognizable close up, but comes into focus as we stand back and observe from a more distant, and broader, perspective.