Quotes About Time

I usually claim that pregnant women should not read books about pregnancy and birth. Their time is too precious. They should, rather, watch the moon and sing to their baby in the womb.

Et le croisement de ces mains de vieillards fortes et usées était comme le signe d'un ancien pacte renouvelé trop tard, à présent sans autre objet qu'un rêve à l'agonie. Un pacte d'amour gratuit cerné par le néant.

The more the marble wastes, the more the statue grows.

So now, from this mad passion Which made me take art for an idol and a king I have learnt the burden of error that it bore And what misfortune springs from man's desire... The world's frivolities have robbed me of the time That I was given for reflecting upon God.

Genius is eternal patience.

Patience is eternal genius

You no longer feel the fear of a change of being and desire . . . The course of the hours lays not violent hands upon you ; necessity and chance guide not your steps ... I can hardly write without envy. --Michelangelo on the dead.

Disegnia e no prder tepo [sic]

What is life," he asked the maiden, "without love? I would rather have this one night with you than another thousand years.

need it though, desperately. More of the web unraveling from my face… I see more and more. Symbols are placed in my path, my lucky number 22 keeps on appearing before me, letting me know that I am on my own road. Call it romantic, call me 'crazy'…but here it appears almost every hour?—?on a clock, a license plate, in phone numbers, on cash registers, out of people's mouths.

Love is not a matter of counting the years . . . But making the years count.

We believe the explanation we hear last. It's one of the ways in which narrative influences our perception of truth. We crave finality, and end to interpretation, not seeing that this too, the tying up of all loose ends in the last chapter, is only a storytelling ruse. The device runs contrary to experience, wouldn't you say? Time never simplifies - it unravels and complicates. Guilty parties show up everywhere. The plot does nothing but thicken.

The past was not always past enough here. It was like living in a house acquired for its clean angles and gleaming appliances, and discovering a bricked-up foor at which, faint but insistent, the sound of knocking could be heard.

All the while, she understood that nothing could save her from the emptiness of the years that still had to be lived. Days passed, and weeks, and no one said her name.

De modo que llegó una época, quizá, en la que para algunas especies el ritmo al que aumentaba el aprendizaje alcanzó una pendiente tal que, de repente, ocurrió una cosa completamente nueva; un animal podía aprender cosas, transmitirlas a otro y a otro con la suficiente rapidez para que no se perdieran para la especie. Así fue posible una acumulación de saber de la especie. A veces a esto se le ha llamado enlazar el tiempo.

How do we live in this world where friends disappear for years and years and reappear as if nothing has happened?

Love makes the time pass, but time makes love pass, too.

Only a sentimental being would care about such everyday things—things used and discarded by the humans of their respective eras without thought, yet kept and preserved by an immortal who never forgot them. An immortal who loved and cared for them, dusting them off for an eternity, keeping their dead spirits as alive as he—stuck in their immortal tomb never to find the rest everything must eventually seek. Time had no meaning in this cavern of infinite age.

Jaden felt their boredom, their tired eternity. Beyond that, she felt their dying essence. They were immortal—all-powerful beings—and yet they were powerless against the onslaught of ever-changing time. They were lost in a modern world, one they didn't have the energy to understand. And, in being lost, they were immobilized against it. Not even their judgments could assuage their exhausted wisdom of forever.

patience is the weapon that forces deception to reveal itself. It is the insurance against being deceived or making wrong decisions. Some things can only be made known by waiting. God takes his time.

This is how memories are; what seems so clear and unforgettable at one moment vanishes like steam the next.

I always thought the purpose of time was to move forward, not backward.

History will remember this," she says. "I do not need to.

After all, that's why we read historical fiction-to be transported to another time, and to be astonished at ancient people's lives and traditions, just as they would probably be astonished at ours.