Quotes About Time

Hani bazen olur ya, o an uzad?, her andan çok daha uzun bir an oldu. Ses kesildi, hareket durdu... uzun süre öylece havada as?l? kalakald? her ÅŸey.

The times, the moment, demanded that I slaughter human beings and I did." "That was wartime and for your country." "It's always some kind of time.

It's one of the great fallacies, it seems to me," said Lee, "that time gives much of anything but years and sadness to a man.

Eventlessness has no post to drape duration on.

But it isn't silly, this preoccupation with small time units. One thing late or early can disrupt everything around it, and the disturbance tuns outward in bands like the waves from a dropped stone in a quiet pool.

It is the dull eventless times that have no duration whatever. A time splashed with interest, wounded with tragedy, crevassed with joy -- that's the time that seems long in the memory. And this is right when you think about it. Eventlessness has no posts to drape duration on. From nothing to nothing is no time at all.

In our time mass or collective production has entered our economics, our politics, and even our religion, so that some nations have substituted the idea collective for the idea God.

Baz? insanlar, iyileÅŸmenin hastal?klar?n?n ÅŸan?na hakaret olduÄŸunu düÅŸünür. Ama zaman merhemi ÅŸana filan bakmaz. Beklerse herkes iyileÅŸir.

Yes, it meant something." Then he said, "Mr. Trask, do you think the thoughts of people suddenly become important at a given age? Do you have sharper feelings or clearer thoughts now than when you were ten? Do you see as well, hear as well, taste as vitally?" "Maybe you're right," said Adam. "It's one of the great fallacies, it seems to me," said Lee, "that time gives much of anything but years and sadness to a man.

In 1963 Steinbeck told Caskie Stinnett: I wrote The Grapes of Wrath in one hundred days, but many years of preparation preceded it. I take a hell of a long time to get started. The actual writing is the last process. Though Steinbeck actually wrote the novel in ninety-three sittings, it was his way of saying that The Grapes of Wrath was an intuited whole that embodied the form of his devotion. p xxxviii

Oh, I have the money. I've had it a long time.

It is the hour of the pearl—the interval between day and night when time stops and examines itself.

Ci sono tanti mondi, quante sono le giornate.

Sadness and death, she thought, and death and sadness, and it wrenched in her stomach against the soreness. You just have to wait around long enough and it will come.

His sleep was a shouting, echoing black cave, and it extended into eternity.

A day, a livelong day, is not one thing but many. It changes not only in growing light toward zenith and decline again, but in texture and mood, in tone and meaning, warped by a thousand factors of season, of heat or cold, of still or multi winds, torqued by odors, tastes, and the fabrics of ice or grass, of bud or leaf or black-drawn naked limbs. As a day changes so do its subjects, bugs and birds, cats, dogs, butterflies and people.

em.'' " 'Course you did,'' said Tom. "Always talk. If you was up on the gallows you'd be passin' the time a day with the hangman. Never seen sech a talker.

God's time is slow, patient, and kind and welcomes friendship; it is a way of being in the fullness of time that is not determined by productivity, success, or linear movements toward personal goals. It is a way of love, a way of the heart.

We continually move backward and forward in time as we use our stories to describe who we were, who we are, and what we hope we will become. Storytelling

What you haven't done by thirty you're not likely to do. What you have done you'll do lots more.

History. The more of it you have the more you have to live it. After a little while there gets to be too much of it to memorize and maybe that's when empires start to decline.

We wake at different times, and the gallantest flowers are those that bloom in the cold.

Days, pale slices between nights, they blend, not exactly alike, transparencies so lightly tinted that only stacked all together do they darken to a fatal shade.

You have a life and there are these volumes on either side that go unvisited; some day soon as the world winds he will lie beneath what he now stands on, dead as those insects whose sound he no longer hears, and the grass will go on growing, wild and blind.