Quotes About Time

Para ler, é claro, prefiro o atraente, me poupa mais, me arrasta mais, me delimita e me contorna. Para escrever, porém, tenho que prescindir. Não se faz uma frase. A frase nasce. A vida é mais longa do que a fazemos. Cada instante conta.

Don't you remember you once told me: 'today's pain will be your joy tomorrow; there is nothing that escapes transfiguration.' Don't you remember? Maybe it wasn't exactly like that...

God perches in a tree chirping and straight lines travel on unfinished, horizontal and cold. That's what it seems like . . . The moments keep dripping ripe and no sooner has one tumbled than another rises up, somewhat, its face pale and tiny. Suddenly the moments end too. Timelessness trickles through my walls, tortuous and blind. It slowly collects in a dark, quiet pool and I shout: I've lived!

só me comprometo com vida que nasça com o tempo e com ele cresça: só no tempo há espaço para mim.

la esperanza no existe, porque ella no es ya un futuro aplazado, es hoy.

La actitud debe ser: no se pierde por esperar, no se pierde por no entender.

Amo a quien tiene paciencia para esperar por mí y por mi voz.

Animal life boils down to this pursuit of pleasure after all. Human life is more complex: it boils down to the pursuit of pleasure, to fear of it, and above all to the dissatisfaction of the time in between.

É preciso que se saiba. É preciso que se saiba. Que a vida é curta. Que a vida é curta.

Soy un ser concomitante: reúno en mí el tiempo pasado, el presente y el futuro, el tiempo que late en el tiempo de los relojes.

Time for me means the dissolution of matter. The rotting of the organic as if time were a worm robbing the fruit of its pulp. Time does not exist. What we call time is the movement of the evolution of things, but time itself does not exist. Or it exists immutably and into time we transfer ourselves.

I am always remote from myself, I am unreachable to myself just as a star is unreachable to me. I contort myself to be able to touch the present time that surrounds me, but I remain remote in relation to this very instant itself. The future, God help me, is closer to me than the present instant.

Uma pessoa leu meus contos e disse que aquilo não era literatura, era lixo. Concordo. Mas há hora para tudo. Há também a hora do lixo. (Someone read my stories and said that it wasn't literature, it was rubbish. I agree. But there is time for everything. There's also garbage time).

Hell's orgy is the apotheosis of the neutral. Black Sabbath joy is the joy of losing oneself in the atonal. What still frightened me was that even that very unpunishable horror would be benignly reabsorbed into the abyss of time, into the abyss of unending heights, into the profound abyss of God: absorbed into the core of an indifference. . . . an interested indifference, an attainable indifference. It was an extremely energetic indifference.

And all this is in this very instant, is in the now. But at the same time the present instant is completely removed because of the immense magnitude of God.

Have I somehow perhaps been in a hurry to experience everything I would have to experience as soon as possible, so that I would have extra time to… to live without facts? to live . Did I early on discharge all my sense duties - early and quickly experience pains and pleasures - to get free all the sooner of my lesser human destiny? to get free so that I could seek my tragedy.

Un hombre tarda en encontrar sus manos

One gave oneself time, one lost oneself, one followed the sun, one fell asleep so often on a bed of straw, and now, how fresh is the memory of wind one might say that the rain hissed a long silence and it was as if in the evening gods were born but so small that the birds pecked them like grain.

either I can be like some traveler of the olden days, who was faced with a stupendous spectacle, all, or almost all, of which eluded him, or worse still, filled him with scorn and disgust; or I can be a modern traveler, chasing after the vestiges of a vanished reality....A few hundred years hence, in this same place another traveler, as despairing as myself, will mourn the disappearance of what I might have seen, but failed to see.

while I complain of being able to glimpse no more than the shadow of the past, I may be insensitive to reality as it is taking shape at this very moment, since I have not reached the stage of development at which I would be capable of perceiving it.

From time to time, too, and for the space of two or three paces, an image or an echo would rise up from the recesses of time: in the little streets of the beaters of silver and gold, for instance, there was a clear, unhurried tinkling, as if a djinn with a thousand arms was absent-mindedly practising on a xylophone.

The world began without man, and it will complete itself without him.

I was born too soon into a world too young.

The light constantly changes, and that alters the atmosphere and beauty of things every minute.