Quotes About Time

If you want to frisk me, I'll let you, but you got to hurry because there's a lot of me and we don't got much time. And don't be alarmed if I get aroused.

My next novel will be the third volume in the John Dies at the End series, and in fact may already exist, again depending on when you're reading this.

Just go. When you're on your deathbed you're gonna wish you could get back all the time you spent waiting on other people.

Who'd have thought our tracks would cross again like this? where's the time got to? and why is life so full of goodbyes? as we part in the yard roosters are crowing in the trees and we cry a little drunk and happy tears threading our cheeks.

Do you hear the ticking, Mallory, my brave, foolish, young pilot? Time—it ticks, it runs, it twists, it dilates, shrinks, and kills, and one day for each of us, no matter what we do, it stops. Stops, do you hear me?

after a woman has reached a sort of final maturity, her soul has unfolded like a fireflower and no amount of time can extinguish the flame or attenuate the colors.

our quest for the secret of life was stupid and meaningless. There was no secret; there was only the crushing bondage of being, and finally when it was time to be no more, nothingness.

For the Arab, the past does not merely live. The past defines the present.

He thought again of the watch in the window. It had twelve black numbers on its moon face and there was magic to that. For these were numbers that were not really numbers at all but letters like in words. He shivered at the possibilities of such untold magic.

old houses move in their sleep like the dreaming, remembering limbs of very old people. Boards whisper, steps cry out softly to the whispering remembrance of footfalls long gone to earth. Mantelpieces strain gently in the darkness beneath the ghosts of old Christmas stockings. Joists and beams and rafters hunch lightly like the brittle ribs of old women in their sleep: the heart recalling, the worn carpet slippers whispering down the halls again.

It was a warm night for the end of March. Walt had left the front door to the ice-cream parlor open when he went out after supper to gossip with the old men down at Darly Stidger's Store. And yet it was not spring, although winter was dead and the moon was sickly with the neitherness of the time between those seasons: those last few weeks before the cries of the green frogs would rise in stitching clamor from the river shores and meadow bogs.

We struggle. Always. We are doing the best that we can. And we dream of transcendence. For me, there was a time when the dream was incarnate. And the dream's name was Muhammad Ali. This is the story of my time spent with that dream.

But tarry a while, haste is the arch-enemy of delight.

a.m. for about an hour, tops. That's when they could keep their promise and, to their credit, they never broke it. Hope was sorry that she couldn't rely on her mum and dad for babysitting

Pink All I'm saying is that if I ever start referring to these as the best years of my life - remind me to kill myself.

The future comes one day at a time.

Always remember that the future comes one day at a time.

As Your Life Flashes Before Your Eyes At The Point Of Death, Let's Hope The Ad Breaks Have Been Edited Out

Time is a great faith healer

The most visceral science fiction always takes place in the past and focuses on the humdrum

Time Is Speeding Up In Relation To Corruption. Hold On Tight.

Time is an abstraction of eternity. A glimpse, for mortals, of what could be if we spend ours wisely in life.

Life is a road movie whose destination is death. Direct your own instead of watching others.

We are all on Death Row, but some of us are looking at parole