Quotes About Time

So he sat and listened to pigeons talking, till it seemed to him they were trying to lull the restlessness of Earth, and thought that they might by drowsy incantation be putting some spell against time, through which it could not come to harm their nests; for the power of time was not made clear to him yet and he knew not yet that nothing in our fields has the strength to hold out against time.

Now it is thus with time in Elfland: in the eternal beauty that dreams in that honied air nothing stirs or fades or dies, nothing seeks its happiness in movement or change or a new thing, but has its ecstasy in the perpetual contemplation of all the beauty that has ever been, and which always glows over those enchanted lawns as intense as when first created by incantation or song.

Nothing grows among its pinnacles; there is no shade except under great toadstools of sandstone whose bases have been eaten to the shape of wine glasses by the wind. Everything is flaking, cracking, disintegrating, wearing away in the long, inperceptible weather of time. The ash of ancient volcanic outbursts still sterilizes its soil, and its colors in that waste are the colors that flame in the lonely sunsets on dead planets.

We are all potential fossils still carrying within our bodies the crudities of former existences, the marks of a world in which living creatures flow with little more consistency than clouds from age to age.

We are one of many appearances of the thing called Life; we are not its perfect image, for it has no image except Life, and life is multitudinous and emergent in the stream of time.

We are all potential fossils, still carrying within our bodies the crudites of former existences, the marks of a world in which living creatures flow with little more consistency than clouds from age to age. (As quoted by Richard Powers in The Echo Maker.

Nothing you do in your life will harm the planet in any way, shape or form; Nothing you do in your life will help the planet in any way shape or form. The planet is going to outlive us all!

Veins raised themselves along the backs of my hands that summer. My handwriting changed several times. I began reading Time magazine. Soon after that it was time to go.

Nunca dejes de respetar a alguien que tiene tiempo para aburrirse. De ahí salen los sabios.

contar historias es justamente esto: encontrar la conexión que logra reunir a los seres humanos más allá del tiempo y el espacio

Sometimes you can spend your whole life waiting for the day you leave work, the day you're going to start enjoying life, start living, start getting to know your family. But by then it's over—it's too late. You're gone.

Nothing could hold back time or tide, or weather, or what was going to come out of this now . . .

Maybe time will help me process and accept. Maybe it won't. Why should we always "understand" our abuser, the villains, the mendacity of evil, the people who let us down? Does understanding help us heal?

mean, guys like him—they don't change, Daisy, do they? They just learn. They evolve. Adapt. They figure out how to be more careful, how not to get caught next time around.

He felt surreal, as if suspended in a dreamscape between day and night as he chased time westward.

One should follow one's heart, you know, because before you realize it, your time on this earth is done and you're at death's door.

Memories defined a person. Without autobiographical memory, the face in the mirror was a stranger's. One became an alien, flailing around in a constant, unrelenting present with no touchstones to guide one into the future and out of the past.

Her dad works in a supermarket, and her mother is just a stay-home mom. Her mom was always at Stacey's dance rehearsals and stuff. And that's why Stacey is not rich—her parents don't put in the time.

How men are like little ants on the crust of the earth, busying themselves with all that is so important, but their lives and industry are just a blink in geological time, really. Borrowed time at that. Mother Earth has only to shrug a shoulder in her sleep, and all the little men and houses go tumbling and scattering, and the men go fleeing for safer sanctuary.

One time I thought I might try to write my own. About a lady detective. One should follow one's heart, you know, because before you realize it, your time on this earth is done and you're at death's door.

He cleared his throat, "Zoe, i think you said you love me." "I did say it. I do love you with all my heart." "I see." There was a long pause, then he said, "For how long has this been going on?" "I don't know," she said, "Sometimes i think it started a long, long time ago." "You might have mentioned it." "I didn't want to encourage it," she said, "I thought it was a bad idea.

By gad, is that you, Ainswood? I haven't seen you in a dog's age. How's the gout? Still troubling you?

He'd forget all that, just as he would forget this night. The memories would linger for a time, but they'd grow dull. The ache he felt now, the frustation and anger and sorrow - all those would fade too. She'd given him a night to remember, but of course he'd forget.

She was so busy doing Christmas, there wasn't time to experience Christmas.