Quotes About Time

Orwell once commented that "whether the British ruling class are wicked or merely stupid is one of the most difficult questions of our time, and at certain moments a very important question.

History's lessons don't expire after a few decades.

Mr. Obama still has time to reverse course. A great deal depends on it. To fail on health care yet again might well be the 'Waterloo' Republicans dream of.

Sometimes, when my wife and I were going out to dinner, I would take my laptop with me and work in the car, so as to take advantage of the half hour going and coming.

Birth is the beginning of death

The pyramids themselves, doting with age, have forgotten the names of their founders.

Music is nothing else but wild sounds civilized into time and tune.

History maketh a young man to be old, without either wrinkles or gray hairs; privileging him with the experience of age, without either the infirmities or inconveniences thereof.

Our prayers are granted as soon as we have prayed, even though the process of fulfilling our requests has not yet begun.

Since sorrow never comes too late And happiness too swiftly flies.

Yet, ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their Paradise. No more;—where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.

A FLOWER THAT SMILES TODAY , TOMORROW DIES. ALL THAT WE WISH TO STAY, TEMPTS AND THEN FILES

a horribly protracted death that would stretch into the indefinite future, a death not in one month or two or even three but one that might go on and on, with the whole process of dying getting worse every single day for years and years and years.

Not to relive it as it actually was, however, but as I would have it be, knowing all that I have since come to know. It is a dream of reaching back into the past and erasing some circumstance or making some small adjustment that will alter the course of our lives forever, and as time moves forward and mistake piles upon mistake, it becomes the deepest longing that we know.

A woman would rather visit her own grave than the place where she has been young and beautiful after she is aged and ugly.

An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,In blast-beruffled plume.

Only a man harrowing clodsIn a slow silent walkWith an old horse that stumbles and nodsHalf asleep as they stalk.Only thin smoke without flameFrom the heaps of couch grass:Yet this will go onward the sameThough dynasties pass.Yonder a maid and her wightCome whispering by;War's annals will cloud into nightEre their story die.

The great inviolate place had an ancient permanence which the sea cannot claim. Who can say of a particular sea that it is old? Distilled by the sun, kneaded by the moon, it is renewed in a year, in a day, or in an hour. The sea changed, the fields changed, the rivers, the villages, and the people changed, yet Egdon remained.

We two kept house, the Past and I,The Past and I;Through all my tasks it hovered nigh,Leaving me never alone.

I leant upon a coppice gateWhen Frost was specter-gray,And Winter's dregs made desolateThe weakening eye of day.

The hard, half-apathetic expression of one who deems anything possible at the hands of Time and Chance, except, perhaps, fair play.

Ah, no; the years, the years;Down their chiseled names the raindrop plows.

In fact, precisely at this transitional point of its nightly roll into darkness the great and particular glory of the Egdon waste began, and nobody could be said to understand the heath who had not been there at such a time. It could best be felt when it could not clearly be seen.

If I saw you everyday forever, I would remember this time.