Quotes About Time

Just like that. Blink of an eye, if I'd blinked. I hadn't. He'd vanished

Can there be any act of creation that does not first destroy? Villages fall. Cities rise. Humans die. Life springs from the soil wherein they lie. Is not any act of destruction, should Time enough pass, an act of creation?

What are you doing here?" "Making sure you didn't need backup. If you'd told me you were taking your fairy little boyfriend, I wouldn't have wasted my time. I resent it when you waste my time, Ms. Lane.

She knew her husband would never stray, so highly did he value that which he'd waited nearly six thousand years to know, so precious was it to him: love. She knew he would be there with her until the very end, that he would cherish each wrinkle, every line in her face, because in the final analysis they were not a negation of life but an affirmation of a life well lived. Proof positive of laughter and tears, of joy and grief, of passion, of living.

For those of us who believe in physics, this separation between past, present, and future is only an illusion, however tenacious." —ALBERT EINSTEIN

The world can wait. I can't.

Killed time is an abortion, life that never gets lived, gone, just gone.

Do you wish to? I'm leaving on the morrow. 'Tis now or never, lass." He waited, watching her. "Some chances come but once, Chloe, and swift are gone.

Some people—who haven't lost someone they love unconditionally and more than themselves—think a year is plenty of time to get over the trauma of their death and you should have fully moved on. Fuck you, it's not.

YOU ACCUSE ME OF ILLUSION. YOU—WITH YOUR ABSURD CONSTRUCT OF LINEAR TIME. YOU FASHION FOR YOURSELF A PRISON OF WATCHES, CLOCKS, AND CALENDARS. YOU RATTLE BARS FORGED OF HOURS AND DAYS, BUT YOU'VE PADLOCKED THE DOOR WITH PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE. PUNY MINDS NEED PUNY CAVES.

I take a being and make its molecules rest. How is that not creation? It was one thing and is another. Once it ate, now it is eaten. Did I not create sustenance for another with its new state? Can there be any act of creation that does not first destroy? Villages fall. Cities rise. Humans die. Life springs from the soil wherein they lie. Is not any act of destruction, should time enough pass, an act of creation?" Conversations with Sinsar Dubh, Shadowfever - K.M.Moning

Clock hands are ticking away my life at someone else's direction. It's so wrong.

Time heals. No, it doesn't. At best, time is the great leveler, sweeping us all into coffins. We find ways to distract ourselves from the pain. Time is neither scalpel nor bandage. It is indifferent. Scar tissue is not a good thing. It is merely the wound's other face.

significant time and money is wasted when organizations attempt to make improvements without a clearly defined, externally focused improvement strategy that places the customer in the center.

We use three metrics to evaluate the current state of 98 percent of the office and service value streams we've encountered: process time, lead time, and percent complete and accurate.

Next, the team will summarize the metrics across the full value stream. We recommend, at a minimum, ... four ... summary metrics: Total Lead Time...Total Process Time ... Activity Ratio ... Rolled Percent Complete and Accurate

Comedy is pain plus time.

You know I'd give you forever, but I don't have it to give.

Forever , just the word fills Beverly with an unaccountable, schoolmarmish sort of rage. Forever, that's got to be bad math, right? Such terrifying math.

The Beginning of the End can feel a lot like the middle when you are living in it. When I was a kid I couldn't see any of these ridges. It was only after Swamplandia!'s fall that time folded into a story with a beginning, a middle, and an ending. If you're short on time, that would be the two-word version of our story: we fell.

Somethings you know right away to be final- when you lose your last baby tooth...Other times, you have to work out the milestone via subtraction, a math you do to assign significance, like when I figured out that I'd just blown through my last-ever wednesday with Mom on the day after she died.

I say nothing. But I keep thinking: It's been two years. What if all the Olivia-ness has already seeped out of her and evaporated into the violet welter of clouds? Evaporated, and rained down, and evaporated, and rained down. Olivia slicking over all the rivers and trees and dirty cities in the world. So that now there is only silt, and our stupid, salt-diluted longing. And nothing left of our sister to find.

The past, with its monstrous depth and span, reached toward him, demanding an understanding that he simply could not give it.

What a weird future awaited her in the past!