Quotes About Time

Each minute bursts in the burning room, The great globe reels in the solar fire, Spinning the trivial and unique away. (How all things flash! How all things flare!) What am I now that I was then? May memory restore again and again The smallest color of the smallest day: Time is the school in which we learn, Time is the fire in which we burn.

Time is the fire in which we burn.

What will become of you and me (This is the school in which we learn ...) Besides the photo and the memory? (... that time is the fire in which we burn.) Avid its rush, that reeling blaze! Where is my father and Eleanor? Not where are they now, dead seven years, But what they were then? No more? No more?

I'll come and make love to you at five o'clock. If I'm late, start without me. Codeine...bourbon... (Tallulah Bankhead's last coherent words).

What does one say to somebody who says: 'Whatever the sum total of the elements I am composed of I am still one entity. Now one cause has only one effect. I have always been one single cause and I have therefore only ever had one effect to produce. My existence in time is therefore nothing more than a series of necessary effects'?

El primer juramento que se hicieron dos seres de carne y hueso fue al pie de una roca que se deshacía en polvo; pusieron por testigo de su constancia a un cielo que no es el mismo ni un solo instante; todo pasaba en ellos y en torno a ellos y creían sus corazones libres de vicisitudes. ¡Oh, niños, siempre niños...!

To rot under marble or to rot under earth is still to rot.

This life is but the childhood of our immortality.

I note that I've lived longer in the past now, than I can expect to live in the future. I have more to remember than I have to look forward to. Memory fades, not much of the past stays, and I wouldn't mind forgetting more of it.

He was in his fifties. He'd wasted his entire life. Such people were very dear to those of us who'd wasted only a few years.

Who said it? – probably Confucius – "I can't beat a sculpture from a stone with a sledgehammer; I can't free the soul of man by violence." Peace was here, peace was now. Peace promised in any other time or place was a lie.

It's plain to you that at the time I write this, I'm not dead. But maybe by the time you read it.

It wasn't that she expected to be known by all the bank's employees; it was just that she had been lovely once, and had never really believed that time would make her faceless.

He'd wasted his entire life. Such people were very dear to those of us who'd only wasted a few years.

If I could drink liquor without being drunk all the time, I'd certainly drink enough to be drunk half the time.

In fact he was no longer persuaded that blood and revolution made useful tools for altering the concepts in a person's mind. Who said it?—probably Confucius—" I can't beat a sculpture from a stone with a sledgehammer; I can't free the soul of a man by violence." Peace was here, peace was now. Peace promised in any other time or place was a lie.

I note that I've lived longer in the past, now, than I can expect to live in the future. I have more to remember than I have to look forward to. Memory fades, not much of the past stays, and I wouldn't mind forgetting a lot more of it.

To English it was amazing how a song will take a whole confused epoch in your life, and fashion it into something sharp and elegant with which to pierce your neck.

She looked up out of her voice and saw the angel.…and the entire message had no words. The entire message will be only the beat and direction of time. Yes is Now. The angel who says, "It's time." "Is it time?" she asked. "Does it hurt?" He will have the most beautiful face she has ever seen. "Oh, babe." The angel starts to cry. "You can't imagine," he said.

The Vine was like a railroad club car that had somehow run itself off the tracks into a swamp of time where it awaited the blows of the wrecking ball.

Broadcast on, speech: – to prepare. The right length. Know when to stop. Time it. Write it out word for word. Make it sound as if extempore & from the heart. So write for reading, – to be spoken. Slower than ordinary conversation. Go slow. Speak out of your own experience, a picture in words, – you are painting a picture. You must be absolutely sincere. A little humour if possible. Some detail the audience does not know & some details they know.... Today

Meet me back here in twenty," he called, shutting the door. " 'Kay, Dad!" He froze, the title catching him right in the gut. He watched her disappear into the barn, a smile of wonder lifting his mouth.

His life had no meaning. It was intolerable. The last three decades had been a hollow waste of time. Hands

We were supposed to grow old together, Dolores. Have kids. Take walks under old trees. I wanted to watch the lines etch themselves into your flesh and know when each and every one of them appeared. Die together.