Quotes About Time

We moved wordlessly from one room to another, from the room of the dead to the room where time lay in pages everywhere I looked.

People who say everything happens for a reason usually say that only when they agree with the reason. Those people are not the once who wish they could fold back time and make different choice. They don't lie awake at night and whisper , If only.....

you can't get back the day you make a decision that changes everything.

Henrietta might have said.

Sometimes it's not about right and wrong but now and later. Right now, we are having to put up with a difficult situation that we don't deserve, and it's not right.

Poetry speaks slowly. My mother told me that. We are usually too much in a hurry." He sighed at this remembrance. "Hurried people miss many things. They see only what is right on top. . . ." His voice fell away.

Everything in my life suddenly shifted into focus. It was like time froze and I was given a dazzling moment to comprehend the difference between that moment and the one before it. No one made choices for me. I made them. If I took no risks in the choices I'd made, it was because I didn't have the courage to take them or didn't want to live with the consequences. I didn't want to risk disappointment myself. It had been safer to defer than to strike our on my own.

would change nothing if I were to live my life again. The person who completes your life is not so much the person who shares all the years of your existence, but rather the person who made your life worth living, no matter how long or short a time you were given to spend with them.

These things keep me close to Mama, close even to that part of her I hadn't yet come to fully know because I was too young and we simply ran out of time.

I had been told something like that before. That the past is nothing you can make friends or enemies of. It just is what it is. Or was. It is this day you are living right now, this very day, that is yours to make of it what you will. So make it beautiful, if you can.

You cannot undo the past but wishing it undone.

There is no good reason. Don't waste your life waiting for good reasons...You'll wait and wait.

Her life had not been long enough for her to know the whole of herself, it had not been long enough or wide.

She rolled herself back so she wouldn't leave anything out. Sometimes time spread out like ink in water but it also had an order and one thing could not come without the other coming first.

Time is the narrow footpath in eternity which we walk in our magical, momentary bodies.

We are historical beings, unable to describe ourselves without describing ourselves in space and time.

For overthinkers, whose feelings and thoughts about their loss linger much longer than those of nonoverthinkers, the social time clock for "getting over" loss is really punishing. People become tired, even annoyed, with overthinkers for continuing to talk about their loss. They may simply withdraw, or if they can't withdraw, they may eventually blow up at the overthinker, expressing anger and frustration rather than sympathy and concern.

A book feels like a thing alive in this moment, and also alive in a continuum, from the moment the thoughts about it first percolated in the writer's mind to the moment it sprang from the printing press -- a lifeline that continues as someone sits with it and marvels over it, and it continues on, ...

It wasn't that time stopped in the library. It was as if it were captured here, collected here, and in all libraries—and not only my time, my life, but all human time as well. In the library, time is dammed up—not just stopped but saved. The library is a gathering pool of narratives and of the people who come to find them. It is where we can glimpse immortality; in the library, we can live forever.

A book feels like a thing alive in the moment, and also alive on a continuum, from the moment the thoughts about it first percolated in the writer's mind to the moment it sprang off the printing press - a lifeline that continues as someone sits with it and marvels over it, and it continues on, time after time after time.

If only feelings and ideas and stories and history really could be contained in a block of marble—if only there could be a gathering up of permanence—how reassuring it would be, how comforting to think that something you loved could be held in place, moored and everlasting, rather than bobbing along on the slippery sea of reminiscence, where it could always drift out of reach.

The idea of being forgotten is terrifying. I fear not just that I, personally, will be forgotten, but that we are all doomed to being forgotten—that the sum of life is ultimately nothing; that we experience joy and disappointment and aches and delights and loss, make our little mark on the world, and then we vanish, and the mark is erased, and it is as if we never existed. If

Besides, I think the real reason is that life has no meaning. I mean, no obvious meaning. You wake up, you go to work, you do stuff. I think everybody's always looking for something a little unusual that can preoccupy them and help pass the time.

It wasn't that time stopped in the library. It was as if it were captured here, collected here, and in all libraries—and not only my time, my life, but all human time as well. In the library, time is dammed up—not just stopped but saved. The library is a gathering pool of narratives and of the people who come to find them.