Quotes About Time

4.33 The sequence of mutation occurs in every second, yet is comprehensible only at the end of a series.

Be patient, as you must always be patient with new pale seeds buried in the dark ground. When you are stronger, you can begin to think again. But now is the time to feel.

Faey lived, for those who knew how to find her, within Ombria's past. Parts of the city's past lay within time's reach, beneath the streets in great old limestone tunnels: the hovels and mansions and sunken river that Ombria shrugged off like a forgotten skin, and buried beneath itself through the centuries.

Every moment is like a wheel with a hundred spokes in it. We ride always at the hub of the wheel and go forward as it turns. We ignore the array of other moments constantly turning around us. We are surrounded by doorways; we never open them.

He exuded ambiguities she decided, that was his fascination. His mouth spoke; his eyes said something other: his smile belied everything.... He played with the language of the Circle of Days like a child with an arsenal of twigs.... His music said otherwise it seemed to echo through time out of a past as old as the stones on the hill. He lied with every note he played. Or in his music he finally told the truth.

Soon is such a long word.

In sixteen years since then, she had changed beyond recognition, and he had not changed by a moment, being the same dispassionate, thin-haired wraith who had picked her up with his bony hands and tucked her into a book bag to add to the acquisitions of the royal library.

This palace,' he had said, 'is a small city, past lying close to present like one shoe next to another. If you look at them in a mirror, left becomes right, present becomes past...

That sleep that has no language, No dream, No time, No end.

I knew those were precious times, Mama. I knew they were going by too fast, everybody knows that. Where I went wrong is, I thought that would protect me, the fact that I knew. Knew and appreciated, felt for a minute, and now… I don't know, something's going on with time, it's not passing the way it used to, and I hate it. Because you know it all comes down to is good-bye.

What could be duller than past history!' Therese said, smiling. 'Maybe futures that won't have any history.

She was conscious of the moments passing like irrevocable time, irrevocable happiness, for in these last seconds she might turn and see the face she would never see again.

Hay algo más aburrido que la historia del pasado? -dijo Therese sonriendo. -Quizá un futuro sin historia.

Dusk was falling quickly. It was just after 7 P.M., and the month was October.

She probably had all the time in the world, Therese thought, probably did nothing all day but what she felt like doing.

He had such slow reactions to everything. Physical danger. Emotional blows. Sometimes his reactions were weeks late, so that

January was moments, and January was a year

They were not friends. They didn't know each other. It struck Tom like a horrible truth, true for all time, true for the people he had known in the past and for those he would know in the future: each had stood and would stand before him, and he would know time and time again that he would never know them, and the worst was that there would always be the illusion, for a time, that he did know them, and that he and they were completely in harmony and alike.

What immense satisfaction it must be to fashion a story like [Maupassant's]! One must say 'fashion' because it is not merely writing, but massing and cutting away like a sculptor, chiseling lean and clear. And to put one's work confidently in the crucible of Time; to know that in six perfect pages is the finest form of one's idea: This satisfaction is the only true reward of the artist, and this his highest possible joy on Earth.

and the night became another of those islands in time, suspended somewhere in the heart or in the memory, intact and absolute.

If he could fully believe in the pearly gates of the priests or the spirits of his father, he might welcome death, but all Cade could think of was Lily. It was odd that he had spent twenty years of his life simply surviving, only to spend his dying minutes dreaming of a woman who hated him. Closing his eyes, Cade felt the warmth of her body close to his. She didn't hate him completely. Her body was too warm and alive to his touch to hate him entirely. Had there been time... Damn

freeing up time for more valuable endeavors, such as advanced training. He

No man who is resolved to make the most of himself,' said Lincoln, 'can spare time for personal contention.

All this takes time, but 'Good manners,' said Emerson, 'are made up of petty sacrifices.