Quotes About Time

the reason for living was to get ready to stay dead a long time.

And sure enough, even waiting will end...if you can just wait long enough.

And I will look down and see my murmuring bones and the deep water like wind, like a roof of wind, and after a long time they cannot distinguish even bones upon the lonely and inviolate sand.

The artist doesn't have time to listen to the critics. The ones who want to be writers read the reviews, the ones who want to write don't have the time to read reviews.

Dear God, let me be damned a little longer, a little while.

Love doesn't die; the men and women do.

It's all now you see: tomorrow began yesterday and yesterday won't be over until tomorrow.

If you could just ravel out into time. That would be nice. It would be nice if you could just ravel out into time

The scattered tea goes with the leaves and every day a sunset dies.

Because Father said clocks slay time. He said time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.

Everyone in the South has no time for reading because they are all too busy writing.

Then Ben wailed again, hopeless and prolonged. It was nothing. Just sound. It might have been all time and injustice and sorrow become vocal for an instant by a conjunction of planets.

I am older at twenty than a lot of people who have died.

I took out my watch and listened to it clicking away, not knowing it couldn't even lie

And he was not old enough to talk and say nothing at the same time.

It is as though the space between us were time: an irrevocable quality. It is as though time, no longer running straight before us in a diminishing line, now runs parallel between us like a looping string, the distance being the doubling accretion of the thread an not the interval between.

That's what they mean by the womb of time: the agony and the despair of spreading bones, the hard girdle in which lie the outraged entrails of events.

That's the one trouble with this country: everything, weather, all, hangs on too long. Like our rivers, our land: opaque, slow, violent; shaping and creating the life of man in its implacable and brooding image.

and i temporary and he was the saddest word of all there is nothing else in the world its not despair until time its not even time until it was

Who gathers the withered rose?

The whiskey died away in time and was renewed and died again, but the street ran on. From that night the thousand streets ran as one street, with imperceptible corners and changes of scene ...

The clock tick-tocked, solemn and profound. It might have been the dry pulse of the decaying house itself, after a while it whirred and cleared its throat and struck six times.

Maybe times are never strange to women: it is just one continuous monotonous thing full of the repeated follies of their menfolks.

One of the saddest things is that the only thing a man can do for eight hours a day, day after day, is work. You can't eat eight hours a day nor drink for eight hours a day nor make love for eight hours—all you can do for eight hours is work. Which is the reason why man makes himself and everybody else so miserable and unhappy.