Quotes About Time

The advantage of living is not measured by length, but by use; some men have lived long, and lived little. You've done well, and honourably.

But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.

If... if there is reincarnation, it's about forward motion. It has to be, or else we would all be forever stuck in the past.

The history you don't want to talk about. The details you wish you could forget. The pain that never goes away, no matter how much time passes. I

Love, like energy, never dies. You lose people only in the moment. But time is a long road that circles back. At some point the missing turns into love and returns.

Fear stretching out... is how you live 'forever'. You torture the seconds with worry, you anticipate everything that awaits you, you trouble time, and it becomes an agony of isolated, unconnected moments.

Missing is one of the true tragedies in life," he says. "That ache that nothing soothes. I thought time would soften it. It's supposed to, isn't it? But all these years later, I still long for what I had. What we all had. What is no more.

One and whole, together, the loss and repair belonging to each other," Picasso said. "Over time, all paintings are damaged one way or another. A painting cannot survive a long time unscathed.

But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection. —MARCEL PROUST, REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST

We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand…and melting like a snowflake. Let us use it before it's too late. —MARIE BEYNON

much of life requires waiting and we have a choice to do it happily or miserably.

In all things we become acclimated; this is our strength in wartime, and also our weakness. What is a principle, if it alter with circumstance? But what is a man, if he cannot change to meet changed times? And if he can change to meet changed times, is he a man, or several in succession?

I meditated on the passage of time, and how it may be found in both a dry and a wet or gaseous state; how, though lush, it might be dessicated for storage.

I hope,' muttered Jasper, 'we do not ever shop again at a place where vampires can buy clip-on bow ties. You would think with all of eternity in front of them, they could take the time to learn a simple knot.

It does not take long to die, nor to kill. A life is present or absent, and it is an instant passed between those extremities.

It was a strange moment, like when you get sad after sex, and it feels like it's too late in the afternoon, even if it's morning, or night, and you turn away from the other person, and they turn away from you, and you lie there, and when you turn back towards them you can both see each other's moles. Usually there seem to shadows from Venetian blinds all across your legs.

We thought there was a great distance between the future and us, and now here we are, falling through it.

Someday I'll give it to her. When everything is better. The natural history of her life, sketched out, because nothing means as much until it has vanished.

The only thing worse than the thought it may all come tumbling down is the thought that we may go on like this forever.

Pero siempre hay tiempo de cambiar. Siempre hay tiempo. Hasta que ya no hay.

It is a land of Wonders! It is a land of Mystery. It is a land that Time Forgot (or chose specifically not to remember). Cut off from the civilized world for untold years, this land is called: Delaware.

The bus drives up past the old brick factories of Pawtucket and Woonsocket. Finally, in the distance we can see Boston, where slender homes float above the glass towers. I shudder and minutes seem to take forever, and then the bus arrives.

This sounded, even to the Russians of the time, like a fairy tale out of some opera in St. Petersburg's gilded theaters; but the hunger, the poverty, and the desperation were real. The

We enter a time of calamity. Blood on the tarmac. Fingers in the juicer. Towers of air frozen in the lunar wastes. Models dead on the runways, with their legs facing backward. Children with smiles that can't be undone. Chicken shall rot in the aisles. See the pillars fall.