Quotes About Time

At the time, fatal steps are seldom recognised as such. There had been, for so long, the presumption that at any moment something would crop up to provoke change.

Moments shower away; the days of our lives vanish utterly, more insubstantial than if they had been invented. Fiction can seem more enduring than reality.

Sixty-seven-year-old Claudia, on a pavement awash with packaged American matrons, crying not in grief but in wonder that nothing is ever lost, that everything can be retrieved, that a lifetime is not linear but instant. That, inside the head, everything happens at once.

You think back. And often it seems more real than now. I mean, here I am, like this, but in my mind it's like I was different. Young, you see. You never really believe you're not anymore.

He did not want to be young again -- that time had had particular and transcendent horrors -- but the thought of being any older filled him with panic. He could not imagine finding tranquility of soul in old age; if he could only be allowed to mark time for a while all might yet be well, one might suddenly achieve equilibrium, certainty, serenity. There would still be possibilities. Hopes.

The building appears to be locked still into the early nineteenth century (…) There is sits, ticked snug into the fields. It could have simply grown of its own accord, you feel - made from the very bones of this land. It is an emancipation of a time and a place. The truth is that World's End is suspended in this landscape like a space capsule (…)

Charlotte views her younger selves with a certain detachment. They are herself, but other incarnations, innocents going about half-forgotten business.

The jumbled brick and stone of the city's landscape is a medley of style in which centuries and decades rub shoulders in a disorder that denies the sequence of time.

Tirámos fotografias desse tempo em que os filhos de um e de outro com respectivas proles estiveram reunidos em férias na Itália. Fotografias que agora preenchem vazios.

No novo ano, o futuro continuava tão longe como no ano velho.

Life moves in seasons. You cannot always reap, as there comes a season when you must sow to later reap.

Living is in itself dying because every new day we enjoy is another day of our lives lost.

You already have the capacity to travel through time. Simply wait for the future to arrive.

The secret of Washington's ability to accomplish so much was his mastery of time management. Consider his statements on time. "What to me is more valuable, my time, that I most regard," he wrote to James McHenry, September 14, 1799. Similarly, he wrote to James Anderson on December 10, 1799, "… time, which is of more importance than is generally imagined.

The embrace of present and past time, in which English antiquarianism becomes a form of alchemy, engenders a strange timelessness. It is as if the little bird which flew through the Anglo-Saxon banqueting hall, in Bede's Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum, gained the outer air and became the lark ascending in Vaughan Williams's orchestral setting. The unbroken chain is that of English music itself.

I need to know when,' he said, 'In this case when is more important than how. Do you have a time-table?' For although images of this murder now surrounded him, and the parts of the body had become emblems of pursuit, violence and flight, they were as broken and indistinct as the sounds of a quarrel in a locked room.

DYER. No, I am not of your Mind, for the Dialogue was fitted up with too much Facility. Words must be pluckt from Obscurity and nourished with Care, improved with Art and corrected with Application. Labour and Time are the Instruments in the perfection of all Work.

I can recall quite clearly the journey from Omaha to San Francisco which I made with the opera troupe; God had created the world in less time than it took us to travel across America.

Time. In another time. Either before or after. They were not stars, but fires. They were the souls of birds. They were entries into the vast fire. They were the eyes of the dead. And in the darkness they were imprisoned by them.

Truly Time is a vast Denful of Horrour, round about which a Serpent winds and in the winding bites itself by the Tail. Now, now is the Hour, every Hour, every part of an Hour, every Moment, which in its end does begin again and never ceases to end: a beginning continuing, always ending.

50 per cent of the people died before the age of thirty, and 90 per cent before the age of fifty.

My grandmother's hands floated like wings of bone in the dark, then they were birds, then small disks of light and then bones again, and then it was dawn.

I came to realize that my grandmother's stories were part of time and not part of time, part of place and not part of place, part of the stuff that is stored in the mind's honeycomb.

The past always seems better when you look back on it than it did at the time. And the present never looks as good as it will in the future.