Quotes About Time

I didn't have a choice. The pain was just there. The clock would keep turning, and eventually it would be morning. I just had to find a way to get through.

We imagine that we remember things as they were, while in fact all we carry into the future are fragments which reconstruct a wholly illusory past. That first death we witness will always be a murmur of voices down a corridor and a clock falling silent in the darkened room, the end of love is forever two spent cigarettes in a saucer and a white door closing.

These things that were between us, these and a myriad others, a myriad myriad, these remain of her, but what will become of them when I am gone, I who am their repository and sole preserver?

Time and age have brought not wisdom, as they are supposed to do, but confusion, and a broadening incomprehension, each year laying down another ring of nesience.

I am old now, or oldening ...

The past, I mean the real past, matters less than we pretend.

Yes, another April; in a way, in this story, it is always April.

Yes, tings endure while the living lapse

Let us say, the present is where we live, while the past is where we dream.

We do not grow up; all we do is grow dull.

Yes, this is what I thought adulthood would be, a kind of long indian summer, a state of tranquillity, of calm incuriousness, with nothing left of the barely bearable raw immediacy of childhood, all the things solved that had puzzled me when I was small, all mysteries settled, all questions answered, and the moments dripping away, unnoticed almost, drip by golden drip, toward the final, almost unnoticed, quietus.

There are moments when the past has a force so strong it seems one might be annihilated by it

It has always seemed to me a disgrace that the embarrassments of early life should continue to smart throughout adulthood with undiminished intensity. Is it not enough that our youthful blunders made us cringe at the time, when we were at our tenderest, but must stay with us beyond cure, burn marks ready to flare up painfully at the merest touch? No: an indiscretion from earliest adolescence will still bring a blush to the cheek of the nonagenarian on his deathbed.

Lots of water under that bridge, let's not drown ourselves in it.

Yes, things endure, while the living lapse.

Another week done with. How quickly the time goes as the season advances, the earth hurtling along its groove into the years's sharply descending final arc.

We carry the dead with us only until we die too, and then it is we who are borne along for a little while, and then our bearers in turn drop, and so on into the unimaginable generations.

I am amazed at how little has changed in the more than fifty years that have gone by since I was last here. Amazed, and disappointed, I would go so far as to say appalled, for reasons that are obscure to me, since why should I desire change, I who have come back to live amidst the rubble of the past?

Guilt is the only affect I know of that does not diminish with time. Nor does the guilty conscience have any sense of priority or right proportion.

No w?a?nie, przedmioty potrafi? przetrwa?, a ?ywi tymczasem znikaj?.

Thus in the minds of the many does the one ramify and disperse. It does not last, it cannot, it is not immortality. We carry the dead with us only until we die too, and then it is we who are borne along for a little while, and then our bearers in their turn drop, and so on into the unimaginable generations.

But then, at what moment, of all our moments, is life not utterly, utterly changed, until the final, most momentous change of all? We

The skin of his weather-beaten face and the backs of his hands is wrinkled and brown and shiny, like shiny brown paper that had been used to wrap something unwrappable.

Pacjent - powiedzia?a mi pewnego dnia Anna, ju? blisko ko?ca - to dziwne s?owo. Cierpliwy. A ja wcale nie jestem cierpliwa.