Quotes About Time

The living moment is everything.

if we have these personal problems, we must live with them and see how time brings some kind of personal evolution rather than a solution.

Friends that you have known for a long time and love very dearly never seem to grow old.

When you are young you are too busy with yourself - so Caroline thought - you haven't time for ordinary little things

I'm glad you're here, Monkey," said Arthur Abbott at last. "I'm getting old, I suppose. Anyhow, I've come to the time of life when one old friend seems better than all the new friends in the world.

These walls have sheltered joys, and sorrows, and hopes and fears innumerable; they have rung with the noise of revelry and the sound of grief; children have been born, and grown to manhood and died within their shelter – and now they are crumbling to ruin, fit only for the owl and the jackdaw to live in and build their nests.

Can't we have jam?" "Not today," said Sal. "You can have jam yesterday and tomorrow," said Tilly solemnly

From his earliest days William Ayrton's ambition had been to become a landed gentleman and to found a family. To modern ears this ambition may sound peculiar in the extreme, but in the more spacious times of William Ayrton it was a laudable ambition

At the end of a year the matter would be reconsidered. Mr. Whitney insisted on the year's probation—Ernest might want to marry, or he, himself, might die; anything might happen in a year— "Good," said Ernest at last, stretching his arms, "I'm free." "You are bound," thought Mr. Whitney but he was too wise to say so.

After about an hour she asks if we are nearly there, and I reply firmly that we shall not be there for hours and hours. 'But we've been hours and hours already,' she says, 'and we were in Scotland when we started so we must be nearly there. Scotland's quite small on the map.' I

Clocks need a man to keep them in proper subjection.)

It happens when you're eighteen," said Anne thoughtfully. "You'll be eighteen next year." "But I don't want it to happen!" cried Nell in alarm. "I couldn't go out to parties and — and talk to people — and go downstairs to dinner and all that." "Perhaps when you're eighteen —" "Not when I'm eighty! I'd rather things went on just as they are for ever.

But is it?' Guthrie says, waving his hands in the effort to explain. 'We're living in the twentieth century, of course, but are they?

I murmur faintly that Betty is very young, but Miss McCarthy treats this excuse with contempt, and decrees that Betty is to start on Thursday, 'and not waste any more precious time'. She hands me a printed list of the school uniform, and bows me to the door – I emerge from the interview completely disillusioned as to my adequacy as a parent.

but a road upon which he was moving toward eternal life. He was in no hurry to reach the end of the road; for the road, though sorrowful at times, was intensely interesting (there was so much to see and to learn and so many things to do; he would be sorry when he came to the last mile), but still it was as a road that Mr. Grace looked upon it.

As long as skies are blue and fields are green Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

The other day I said to Waldron I'd give him a book to read—any book he liked—and he said he never read anything except the papers. He said he liked true stories, not made-up ones. Then I said, what about history? And he said, ' That's over and done with. All that matters to me is what happens between the time I was born and the time when I die.' What can you do with a man like that, David?

Standing with reluctant feet Where the brook and river meet; Womanhood and childhood fleet. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

The drive to London was uneventful. Mr. Darley did not talk much and showed no signs whatever of bounderism—if there be such a word. He was intent on driving his car. If Bel had not been so taken up with her own thoughts she might have been considerably alarmed for Mr. Darley was the type of driver whose sole object is to get from one place to another in the least possible time regardless of the other traffic on the road.

In most houses nowadays (thought Lady Shaw) there was a feeling of unease. Time marched on and everybody ran madly to keep up with it; even pleasure was taken at a gallop.

Time was no object in those far-off days." "No . . . besides, it was a labour of love. If you were very fond of someone it must have been nice to be able to do something for them. It would be comforting, wouldn't it? You could spend days—or even weeks—making a really distinctive tombstone.

She was thinking how odd it was that children grew up so quickly and grown-up people remained much the same. It was only yesterday (or so it seemed to Dorcas) that she had carried Simon upstairs in her arms. Now he could run up the stairs much faster than she could. Tomorrow, or soon after, he would have grown too big to play bears—he would not need her anymore.

She was always waiting, it seemed to be her forte.

Life is ours to be spent, not to be saved.