Quotes About Time

To feel today what one felt yesterday isn't to feel - it's to remember today what was felt yesterday, to be today's living corpse of what yesterday was lived and lost.

I crave time in all its duration, and I want to be myself unconditionally.

Vivo sempre no presente. O futuro, não o conheço. O passado, já o não tenho.

I wander as I walk straight ahead. When it's time, I show up at the office like everyone else. When it's not time, I go to the river to gaze at the river, like everyone else. I'm no different. And behind all this, O sky my sky, I secretly constellate and have my infinity.

I seek and don't find myself. I belong to chrysanthemum hours, neatly lined up in flowerpots.

Tomorrow I too - this feeling and thinking soul, the universe I am to myself - yes, tomorrow I too will be someone who no longer walks the streets, someone others will evoke with a vague: 'I wonder what's become of him?' And everything I do, everything I feel, everything I experience, will be just one less passer-by on the daily streets of some city or other.

Time, which grays hair and wrinkles faces, also withers violent affections, and much more quickly.

It's been a long time since i've been me.

At the end of this day there remains what remained yesterday and what will remain tomorrow: the insatiable, unquantifiable longing to be both the same and other.

All effort is pointless, but it passes the time. Reasoning is sterile, but amusing. Loving is tedious, but possibly preferable to not loving.

We know that the book we will never write will be bad. Even worse will be the one we put off writing. At least the book that has been written exists.

Si después de morir , quieres escribir mi biografía No hay nada más sencillo. Tiene sólo dos fechas : la de mi nacimiento y la de mi muerte. Entre una y otra todos los días son míos.

And leaning on the windowsill to enjoy the day, gazing at the variegated mass of the whole city, just one thought fills my soul: that I profoundly wish to die, to cease, to see no more light shining on this city or any city, to think no more, to feel no more, to leave behind the march of time and the sun like a piece of wrapping paper, to remove like a heavy suit – next to the big bed – the involuntary effort of being.

O multicoloured hours!… Moments like flowers, minutes like trees, O time frozen in space, time dead from space and covered by flowers, by the fragrance of flowers, and by the fragrance of the names of flowers!…

All I ever asked of life was that it should pass me by without my even noticing it.

At the end of this day there remains what was left behind of yesterday and what will be left behind of tomorrow: the insatiable, innumerable longing to be always the same and always other.

Between my sleeping and dreaming, Between me and the one in me Who I suppose I am, A river flows without end. "30 August 1933

Lezten Endes bleibt von diesem Tage das, was vom gestrigen blieb und vom morgigen bleiben wird: die unersättliche und nicht zählbare Begierde, immer derselbe und ein anderer zu sein.

Nada fica de nada. Nada somos. Um pouco ao sol e ao ar nos atrasamos Da irrespirável treva que nos pese Da húmida terra imposta, Cadáveres adiados que procriam. Leis feitas, 'státuas vistas, odes findas - Tudo tem cova sua. Se nós, carnes A que um íntimo sol dá sangue, temos Poente, porque não elas? Somos contos contando contos, nada.

I live always in the present. I know nothing of the future and no longer have a past. The former weighs me down with a thousand possibilities, the latter with the reality of nothingness.

Four times in the false year the false season Changed, in the immutable course Of times's progression. Dryness follows greenness, and greenness dryness, And no one knows which is first, which Is last, and they end.

I'm older than Time and Space, because I'm conscious. Things derive from me; the whole of Nature is the offspring of my sensations. I seek and I don't find. I want and can't have. Without me the sun rises and expires; without me the rain falls and the wind howls. It's not because of me that there are seasons, the twelve months, time's passage. Lord of the world in me which, like earthly lands, I can't take with me (...)

Que importa àquele que já nada importa Que o um perca e outro vença, Se a aurora raia sempre, Se cada ano com a primavera Aparecem as folhas E com o outono cessam?

Eu amo tudo o que foi Fernando Pessoa Eu amo tudo o que foi, Tudo o que já não é, A dor que já me não dói, A antiga e errônea fé, O ontem que dor deixou, O que deixou alegria Só porque foi, e voou E hoje é já outro dia.