Quotes About Time

This was all such a waste of time, and after that last fight with what was apparently supposed to be a troll, his arm really hurt.

In general those who nothing have to say Contrive to spend the longest time in doing it.

Mostly what you lose with time, in memory, is the specificity of things, their exact sequence. It all runs together, becomes a watery soup. Portmanteau days, imploded years. Like a bad actor, memory always goes for effect, abjuring motivation, consistency, good sense.

Time went by, which is what time does, what it is.

Jivan: You think when you have love that love is easy to find, that everyone has it. It's not true. It's very hard to find. Nedra: I haven't been looking for it. Jivan: It's like a tree...It takes a long time to grow. It has roots very deep, and these roots stretch out a long way, farther than you know. You can't cut it, just like that.

He was reaching that age, he was at the edge of it, when the world becomes suddenly more beautiful, when it reveals itself in a special way, in every detail, roof and wall, in the leaves of trees fluttering faintly before the rain. The world was opening itself, as if to allow, now that life was shortening, one long, passionate look, and all that had been withheld would finally be given.

The summer has ended. The garden withers. The mornings become chill. I am thirty, I am thirty-four–the years turn dry as leaves.

I have not forgotten those days, I have only forgotten how simply they seemed to occur …

He no longer lives in years; he is down to seasons. Finally it will become single nights, each one perilous as a lunar journey. He

He lived in it helplessly as we live in our bodies when we are older.

Certain things I remember exactly as they were. They are merely discolored a bit by time, like coins in the pocket of a forgotten suit.

Life is separated by scars, like the rings in the inside of a tree.

Death was coming for Harry Mies. He would lie emptied, his cheeks rouged, the fine, old man's ears unhearing. There was no telling the things he knew. He was alone in the far fields of his life. The rain fell on him, he did not move. p. 132

He had never been particularly young, or to put it another way, he had been young for a long time and now was at his true age, old enough for civilized comfrots and not too old for the primal ones.

she was motionless, like an old woman who has lived too long.

The children playing by the fountains will become old men, but nothing of this will have changed

Dingen die je geschreven hebt, rijpen niet met je mee, zo lijkt me althans. De waarheid ervan kan bepaald zijn door de tijd, maar er bestaat niet zoiets als bij de tijd zijn wanneer de tijd voorbij is. Boeken blijven bestaan buiten de tijd om of ze houden op te bestaan. Dat is zoals het gaat in de literatuur. Boeken markeren een periode of een plaats, en geleidelijk worden ze die tijd en plaats'.

suddenly felt frightened. He was reaching that age, he was at the edge of it, when the world becomes suddenly more beautiful, when it reveals itself in a special way, in every detail, roof and wall, in the leaves of trees fluttering faintly before a rain. The world was opening itself, as if to allow, now that life was shortening, one long, passionate look, and all that had been withheld would finally be given.

A veces uno es consciente de cuándo están sucediéndose los grandes momentos de su vida y a veces los descubre mirando al pasado. Tal vez suceda lo mismo con las personas.

It takes about eighteen months, on average, for a book you contract with a publisher to make it to the bookstore shelves.

The weight of this sad time we must obey, Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest have borne most. We that are young Shall never see so much, nor live so long. (24.318–21)

biographical information needs to be understood within its immediate context, not through the bias of another cultural moment.

Doing anything for the holidays? Joe asked me. We were stopped at a traffic light that was generally acknowledged to be the slowest traffic light in Merrick. Whole days would pass and this traffic light would stay red. Kingdoms rose and fell, presidential administrations came and went, and the light obstinately refused to change.

Let the past be content with itself, for man needs forgetfulness as well as memory