Quotes About Time

I don't care what she is. Grown don't mean a thing to a mother. A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown? What's that supposed to mean? In my heart it don't mean a thing.

It would be ten years before they saw each other again, and their meeting would be thick with birds.

But her brain was not interested in the future. Loaded with the past and hungry for more, it left her no room to imagine, let alone plan for, the next day.

Birth, life, and death? each took place on the hidden side of a leaf.

It was becoming a habit-this concentration on things behind him. Almost as though there were no future to be had. *Milkman*

Daily life took as much as she had. The future was sunset; the past something to leave behind. And if it didn't stay behind, well, you might have to stomp it out.

But stars can explode, disappear. Besides, what we see when we look at them may no longer be there. Some could have died thousands of years ago and we're just now getting their light. Old information looking like news.

Write at the edges of the day.

Grown don't mean nothing to a mother. A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown? What's that suppose to mean? In my heart it don't mean a thing.

Grown don't mean nothing to a mother. A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown? What's that supposed to mean? In my heart it don't mean a thing.

By and by all trace is gone, and what is forgotten is not only the footprints but the water too and what it is down there. The rest is weather. Not the breath of the disremembered and unaccounted for, but wind in the eaves, or spring ice thawing too quickly. Just weather. Certainly no clamor for a kiss.

For the mouths of her children quickly forgot the taste of her nipples, and years ago they had begun to look past her face into the nearest stretch of sky.

You couldn't learn age, but adulthood was there for all.

Now I know why Baby Suggs pondered color her last years. She never had time to see, let alone enjoy it before.

Funny how you lose sight of some things and memory others.

God's generosity is nowhere better seen than in the gift of patience.

In time the whole family perked up like Sesame Street puppets, hoping that cheer, if worked at hard enough, could sugar the living and quiet the dead.

Whatever happens, whether you get rich or stay poor, ruin your health or live to old age, you always end up back where you started: hungry for the one thing everybody loses- young loving.

Tú y yo tenemos más ayer que nadie. Necesitamos alguna suerte de mañana.

Say it, please, she urged. Please. And hurry. Hurry. I've got things to do.

cemetery as old as sky

Sethe," he says, "me and you, we got more yesterday than anybody. We need some kind of tomorrow.

though she could remember desire, she had forgotten how it worked; the clutch and helplessness that resided in the hands; how blindness was altered so that what leapt to the eye were places to lie down, and all else—doorknobs, straps, hooks, the sadness that crouched in corners, and the passing of time—was interference.

At sunrise, he said, they turned copper and you knew they'd been at it all night. At noon they were silvery gray. Then afternoon blue, then evening black. Moving, moving, all the time moving.