Quotes About Time

What ways? Whom have you put your trust in?" "You have to trust someone sometime." "If your same blood doesn't run in the arms and legs of the person you're next to, you can't trust anything. And even then. It's not a person you wish to fight, Madame, it's a system. How do you fight a system?" "You try.

Flowers grow on her tiny wrought-iron balcony, and in summer she can estimate what time of day it is by feeling how wide the petals of the evening primroses have opened.

You know how diamonds—how all crystals—grow, Laurette? By adding microscopic layers, a few thousand atoms every month, each atop the next. Millennia after millennia. That's how stories accumulate too. All the old stones accumulate stories. That little rock you're so curious about may have seen Alaric sack Rome; it may have glittered in the eyes of Pharaohs. Scythian queens might have danced all night wearing it. Wars might have been fought over it.

It was wrong and impossible and illicit and yet each minute with the boy was a gift, a scene from a story he could not leave.

that a thousand choices were implicit in a single moment.

Anna imagines Antonius Diogenes, whoever he was, setting knife to quill, quill to ink, ink to scroll, placing one more barricade in front of Aethon, stretching time for another purpose: to detain his niece in the living world for a little longer.

All the events of his life were compressing to singularity: one night, one hour.

But curses are not real. Earth is all magma and continental crust and ocean. Gravity and time. Isn't it?

That little rock you're so curious about may have seen Alaric sack Rome; it may have glittered in the eyes of Pharaohs. Scythian queens might have danced all night wearing it. Wars might have been fought over it.

Each of these books, child, is a door, a gateway to another place and time. You have your whole life in front of you, and for all of it, you'll have this. It will be enough, don't you think?

I thought they might take a break," he says. Marie-Laure is thinking of her father. "Maybe," she says, "it is even more important now?

DeschideÈ›i ochii È™i vedeÈ›i cu ei tot ce puteÈ›i înainte s? se închid? pe vecie .

To a certain extent, time was malleable, what he did did matter. Grace was proof of that. Naaliyah was alive.

had felt time settle over itself, imbricate and fix into place the vertigo of future aligning with the present.

Fifteen and a half years as incontestable, a continent he'd never visit, a staircase he'd never climb.

that a story is a way of stretching time.

Now it is as if she can hear the pendulum in the air in front of her: that huge golden bob, as wide across as a barrel, swinging on and on, never stopping. Grooving and regrooving its inhuman truth into the floor.

Every small, concurrent event had slowed down and assumed an excruciating clarity.

Abram os olhos e vejam o máximo que puderem antes que eles se fechem para sempre.

The future waited for him to keep his appointment.

You and I will never reach Beta Oph2, dear, and that is a painful truth. But in time you will come to believe that there is nobility in being a part of an enterprise that will outlast you.

Time slows. The attic disappears. Jutta disappears. Has anyone ever spoken so intimately about the very things Werner is most curious about? Open

Three a lucky number, Chryse always said: Father, Son, Holy Spirit. Birth, life, death. Past, present, future.

The year swung past the fulcrum of another equinox.