Quotes About Time

Do you have enough time to love? Can you make sure that in your everyday life you have a little time to love?

The clause that grants all "persons" equal protection under the law, in context, seems to apply pretty clearly only to human beings "born or naturalized" in the United States of America. But fate and time and the conspiracies of great wealth and power often have a way of turning common sense and logic on its head

Time destroys everything we do, whatever it is.

Our libraries are so to speak prisons where we've locked up our intellectual giants, naturally Kant has been put in solitary confinement, like Nietzsche, like Schopenhauer, like Pascal, like Voltaire, like Montaigne, all the real giants have been put in solitary confinement, all the others in mass confinement, but everyone for ever and ever, my friend, for all time and unto eternity, that's the truth.

Everything about everybody is nothing but diversion from death.

We may know for decades that someone close to us is a ridiculous person, but it's only after a lapse of decades that we suddenly see it.

It was inconceivable now... To think that I once loved this woman Jeannie Billroth, whom I have hated for the last twenty years, and who, also, hates me. People come together and form a friendship, and for years they not only endure this friendship, but allow it to become more and more intense until it finally snaps, and from then on they hate each other for decades, sometimes for the rest of their lives.

The teacher who isn't a genius is made into a teacher of genius by the student of genius at this precise moment for a very precise time period, I thought. But

Unsere Bibliotheken sind sozusagen Strafanstalten, in welche wir unsere Geistesgrößen eingesperrt haben, Kant naturgemäß in eine Einzelzelle wie Nietzsche, wie Schopenhauer, wie Pascal, wie Voltaire, wie Montaigne, alle ganz großen in Einzelzellen, alle andern in Massenzellen, aber alle für immer und ewig, mein Lieber, für alle Zeit und in die Unendlichkeit hinein, das ist die Wahrheit.

Wir leben doch immer in der falschen Zeit hat er gesagt wir wollen alle nur in der Vergangenheit leben die haben wir uns so schön eingerichtet die Vergangenheit wie wir wollen kein Mensch will die Zukunft

She herself had never had enough money and never enough time and hadn't even been unhappy once, in contrast to those she called refined gentlemen, who always had enough money and enough time and constantly talked about their unhappiness. She

And here is the true ground in the law of the infallible perseverance of the saints; their time of trial for life is over in their Head the second Adam - the prize is won!

Had many men spent but half that time in secret prayer, that they have spent in seeking after the philosopher's stone, how happy might they have been!

A great lady(Queen Elizabeth )of England , on her dying bed cried out ,call time again , call time again; a world of wealth for an inch of time !but time past was never nor could never be recalled.

The created world is but a small parenthesis in eternity' something quite different, relating to the planet's life-span, not individual life-span.

Which is better: to dare to look directly into the blinding present, no matter how painful, or to await the detachment of hindsight -- which, being less painful, is more objective?

This is based on no science, pseudo of otherwise, but I firmly believe that the elapsed time between the development of language and creation of the first poem was about five minutes.

But whether the measure is the number of people engaged, or the number times the frequency or the length of time they engage in it, or the ratio of the number who do to the number who do not, or the amount of such activity per square foot or per day or per telephone extension, we can call it a "critical-mass" activity and a lot of people will know what we mean.

time can be slowed if you live deliberately. If you stop and watch sunsets. If you spend time sitting on porches listening to the woods. If you give in to the reality of the seasons.

She considers the past. She measures it and weighs it and holds it in her hand like a plum. The past is everything now, and she understands that this is what it means to be dying: You stop looking forward, instead living for moments that happened years before.

Don't think of what's past! said she. I am not going to think outside of now. Why should we! Who knows what tomorrow has in store?

That it would always be summer and autumn, and you always courting me, and always thinking as much of me as you have done through the past summertime!

She philosophically noted dates as they came past in the revolution of the year. Her own birthday, and every other day individualized by incidents in which she had taken some share. She suddenly thought, one afternoon, that there was another date, of greater importance than all those; that of her own death; a day which lay sly and unseen among all the other days of the year, giving no sign or sound when she annually passed over it; but not the less surely there. When was it?

You could sometimes see her twelfth year in her cheeks, or her ninth sparkling from her eyes; and even her fifth would flit over the curves of her mouth now and then.