Quotes About Time

Well, right now... I'm not dead. But when I am, it's like... I don't know, I guess it's like being inside a book that nobody's reading.... An old one. It's up on a library shelf, so you're safe and everything, but the book hasn't been checked out for a long, long time. All you can do is wait. Just hope somebody'll pick it up and start reading.

Life is simply too short for the wrong books, or even the right books at the wrong time.

But perhaps the greatest escapism of all is to take refuge in the domesticity of the past, the home that history and literature become, avoiding the one moment of time in which we are not at home, yet have to live: the present.

It seems obvious that any serious reader will have learned long ago how much time to give a book before choosing to shut it. It's only the young, still attached to that sense of achievement inculcated by anxious parents, who hang on doggedly when there is no enjoyment.

One of the bedevilling factors of the Volunteer campaign was land hunger, a desire on the part of some unscrupulous people to profit from the disorders of the time.

Time," he said solemnly, "is comparable to a river flowing under a layer of ice. It stretches us out like water weeds, from root to tip, from birth to death, curled around whatever rocks or snags happen to lie in our path; and no one can get out of the river because of the ice roof, and no one can turn back against the current for an instant.

Let us quickly be finished with this business of dying, to save the trouble of making dinner.

The past isn't dead. It isn't even past." —William Faulkner

Come have a drink with me?" "Isn't it early for that?" Callie shrugged. "We have a saying: 'It's always five o'clock in space.

Time tells you what you didn't accomplish. Focus turns off the clock and directs all your energy to the result.

Age is a scalpel, cutting out bits of what we are. Second after second. Day after day. Year after year

Life is spectacular. Forget the dark things. Take a drink and let time wash them away to where ever time washes away to.

We're not the Faster-than-the-Speed-of-Light Generation anymore. We're not even the Next-New-Thing Generation. We're the Soon-to-Be-Obsolete Kids, and we've crowded in here to hide from the future and the past. We know what's up – the future looms straight ahead like a black wrought-iron gate and the past is charging after us like a badass Doberman, only this one doesn't have any letup in him.

That type of dream just kind of wears out with time like a favorite old T-shirt. One day, it's nothing but tatters and all you can do is throw it over on the rag pile with the others.

it's fine to live in the now. but the best thing about now is that there's another one tomorrow. i'm going to start making them count.

You know how when you see someone day in, day out, year after year, you don't really notice him getting taller or wider or older or whatever? It can be like that with the way people are on the inside too.

Life is made out of Thursday afternoons. You just keep having them one after the other and let everything else take care of itself.

Were not faster-than-the-speed-of-light generation. Were not even the Next-New-thing-Generation. Were the Soon-To-Be-Obselete kids, and we've crowded in here to hide from the future and the past. We know what's up-- the future looms ahead like a black-wrought iron gate and the past is charging after us like a badass Doberman, only this one doesn't have any let-up in him.

Nothing lasts. You think it's going to. You think 'Here's something I can hold on to', but it always slips away.

Life is spectacular. Forget the dark things. Take a drink and let time wash them away to wherever time washes things away to.

Uh, sure, if it doesn't take too long. I'm supposed to be at a big police banquet in about thirty seconds. They'll probably send a car by for me if I'm late.

Sabemos lo que nos espera: el futuro nos aguarda allí enfrente, como reja de hierro forjado, y el pasado nos ataca desde la retaguarda como un dóberman perverso, solo que nunca se da por vencido.

Nothing lasts," she says, and there's a little crack in her voice. "You think it's going to. You think, 'Here's something I can hold on to,' but it always slips away.

Galm's tone was reserved, each of his words precisely enunciated, almost as if it required extra concentration for him to speak. He was thousands of years old, and I wondered if he was so ancient and powerful that he sometimes had difficulty remembering simple things, like how to use language.