Quotes About Time

Tania, there is so much still ahead of you. Be patient with life

All good things come to those who wait.

Where was he, her Alexander, of once? Was he truly gone? The Alexander of the Summer Garden, of their first Lazarevo days, of the hat in his hands, white toothed, peaceful, laughing, languid, stunning Alexander, had he been left far behind? Well, Tatiana supposed that was only right. For Alexander believed his Tatiana of once was gone, too. The swimming child Tatiana of the Luga, of the Neva, of the River Kama. Perhaps on the surface they were still in their twenties, but their hearts were old.

Tatiana lived for that evening hour with him that propelled her into her future and into the barely formed, painful feelings that she could neither express nor understand. Friends walking in the lucent dusk. There was nothing more she could have from him, and there was nothing more she wanted from him but that one hour at the end of her long day when her heart beat and her breath was short and she was happy.

The Field of Mars, June, death, life, white nights, Dasha, Dimitri, the all came… And went. But there Alexander still was, standing on that street, on that curb, in the sun, looking at her under the elms, looking at provenance across from him provenance in a white dress with red roses, licking her ice cream with red lips, singing. His and only his for one hundred minutes, blink of an eye and gone. It all was.

We've had a minute, Tatiana thought. We had our minutes on the bus. And at Kirov. We had our minutes in Lugo. And in the Summer Garden. Breathless minutes, we had. What we want, she thought, keeping herself from welling up, is eternity.

He heard bombs exploding like fireworks, and as if in a dream his father's face flashed before him, wanting to know what Alexander was doing near death's door before it was his time. He said, "Dad, I'm going for her.

Time. It was just a human invention. Like numbers. Like measuring things. Just something humans invented to make life a little easier, to order life into manageable blocks, to ease their minds around unmanageable things, to help them with infinity.

When he asked isn't it beautiful, my father was seeing his youth, and his youth was beautiful. He closed his eyes and saw himself young and so handsome, in love with many girls, funny, brilliant, popular. Of course it was beautiful. It was mystifying. It was mystical.

La memoria... esa cruel enemiga del consuelo.

Dulce amor de juventud, perdona si te olvido...»

Cuando se vive mucho tiempo, se aprenden muchas cosas

God!" he exclaimed. "How insane this is – never to have the time to explain, to talk anything out, never to have a minute –" We've had a minute, Tatiana thought. We had our minutes on the bus. And at Kirov. We had our minutes in Luga. And in the Summer Garden. Breathless minutes, we had. What we want, she thought, keeping herself from welling up, is eternity.

Our time on this earth is sacred, and we should celebrate every moment.

The way up to the top of the mountain is always longer than you think. Dont fool yourself, the moment will arrive when what seemed so near is still very far.

Thats because, like everyone else on the planet, you believed that time would teach you to grow closer to God. But time doesnt teach; it merely brings us a sense of weariness and of growing older.

Its always easy to blame others. You can spend your entire life blaming the world, but your successes or failures are entirely your own responsibility. You can try to stop time, but its a complete waste of energy.

Time neither moves nor is stationary. Time changes.

Past and future exist only in our memory. The present moment, though, is outside of time, its Eternity. In India, they use the word karma, for lack of any better term. It isnt what you did in the past that will affect the present. Its what you do in the present that will redeem the past and thereby change the future.

Nothing in the world is ever completely wrong. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.

Time does not always pass at the same speed. We are the ones who determine that speed.

The rightist sectarian wants to slow down the historical process, to domesticate time and thus to domesticate men and women.

o tempo entre o sopro e o apagar da vela

você nunca vai saber o que vem depois de sábado quem sabe um século muito mais lindo e mais sábio quem sabe apenas mais um domingo