Quotes About Time

It must be murder to be an aging beauty, a former Tadzio, to see your future as an ignored spectator rushing up to meet you like the hard pavement. What a small sip of gall to be able to time with each passing year the ever-shorter interval in which someone's eyes focus upon you. And then shift away.

Maybe there is some solace to be derived in that: bacchanal or funeral, after enough time, the detritus looks the same.

It has been a good while since 12:00am held much attraction for me beyond being a perfectly lovely time to be ensconced in the comfort of my own home, sitting in my underpants, contentedly worrying about something.

Given enough time, I guess anything can look good. All it has to do is survive.

Like anyone nostalgic for a time he didn't live through, I chose to weed out the little inconveniences: polio, say, or the thought of eating stewed squirrel. The world was simply grander back then, somehow more civilized, and nicer to look at.

When her muzzle grew more white than brown, the chipmunk forgot that she and the squirrel had had nothing to talk about. She forgot the definition of jazz as well and came to think of it as every beautiful thing she had ever failed to appreciate: the taste of warm rain; the smell of a baby; the din of a swollen river, rushing past her tree and onward to infinity.

Standing in a two-hour line makes people worry that they're not living in a democratic nation.

Standing in a two-hour line makes people worry that they're not living in a democratic nation. People stand in line for two houres and they go over the edge.

There are things you forget naturally-computer passwords, your father's continuing relationship with life-and then there are things you can't forget that you wish you could.

You have what we in France call 'good time teeth,'" she said. "Why on earth would you want to change them?" "Um, because I can floss with the sash to my bathrobe?

Oh, offensive jokes…when, if ever, will your time come around again?

What looks good now is guaranteed to embarrass you twenty years down the line, which is, of course, the whole problem with fashion.

It's not lost on me that I'm so busy recording life, I don't have time to really live it.

Sometimes, when I find it hard to sleep, I'll think of when we first met, of the newness of each other's body, and my impatience to know everything about this person. Looking back, I should have taken it more slowly, measured him out over the course of fifty years rather than cramming him in so quickly.

Something has changed, and now, when I look at my students, I see only people who are going to eat up my time.

we are all in our fifties now. Healthwise, we've been fortunate, but it's just a matter of time before our luck runs out and one of us gets cancer. Then we'll be picked off like figures at a shooting gallery, easy targets given the lives we've led.

Time is cruel to everything but seems to have singled out eyeglasses for special punishment. What looks good now is guaranteed to embarrass you twenty years down the line, which is, of course, the whole problem with fashion.

By this point it was 2:58, and I was starting to panic, thinking, I guess, that if I didn't give the money away by 3:16, the God I claim not to believe in, the one whose only son was used to sell nails in one of my favorite jokes, was going to smite me.

When it's my turn, I'll open my mouth, unable to speak, and feel a little tap on my wrist. Time to stand up, my watch will whisper. Then, before killing myself, I'll say one last time, "I am standing up.

Lisa and I groaned, cursing our stupidity. Once again we'd been duped. There was nothing worse than spending an afternoon on a golf course. We knew what was in store for us and understood that the next few hours would pass like days or maybe even weeks. Our watches would yawn, the minute and hour hands joining each other in a series of periodic naps.

Now here we were, the shadows lengthening, our spaghetti growing cold, as he hit the half-hundred mark, then blithely sailed beyond it. Whore.

If something is written in your native language and it's taking you half a year to get through it, unless you're being paid by the hour to read it, I'd say there's a problem.

My sister is not dating anyone–a good thing, as she's got way too much time on her hands. And that, I think, is the number one reason so many relationships fail. Too much free time, and too much time together. (P. 157)

Eternally Weeps the Groundhog.