Quotes About Moments

Think'st thou existence doth depend on time? It doth; but actions are our epochs.

Youth is thy gift, - the youth that baffles Time.

...and time becomes a forgotten detail.

Time, so complain'd of, Who to no one man Shows partiality, Brings round to all men Some undimm'd hours.

Six years-six little years-six drops of time.

Time. There seems to be vast quantities of the stuff spooling around me in all directions, everywhere i look. Days and hours. Weeks and minutes. Years. The hard part, ive discovered, is filling it.

Time did not mean anything to those who had too much of it, but it was even more precious once it was limited.

But they wanted you. Time is not something you give back. The very next moment may be answer to your prayer. To deny that is to deny the most important part of the future.

And then it went, and time passed properly once more, every second following every other second just like they're meant to.

In my more lucid moments I realized that insanity was a fairly reasonable explanation for what was happening to me. The problem was that it wasn't useful information. Realizing I was crazy didn't make the crazy stuff stop happening. Nor did it give me any clues about what I should do next.

and this great blue world of ours seems a house of leaves moments before the wind

there's no second ive lived you can't call your own

Perhaps one reason Navidson became so enamoured with photography was the way it gave permanence to moments that were often so fleeting.

Standing above him at all moments of awakeness was the hand of time, and it didn't hesitate to wring him out. It smiled and squeezed and let him live. What great malice there could be in allowing something to live.

She wanted none of those days to end, and it was always with disappointment that she watched the darkness stride forward.

A SMALL THEORY*** People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and its ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations, with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spat blues. Murky darknesses. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.

It's funny, don't you think, how time seems to do a lot of things? It flies, it tells, and worst of all, it runs out.

There are so many moments to remember and sometimes I think that maybe we're not really people at all. Maybe moments are what we are.... Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.

We skip the moments like stones.

It's funny, don't you think, how time seems to do a lot of things? It flies, it tells, and worst of all, it runs out.

People have defining moments, i suppose, especially when they're children.

I'd seen glimpses of a different me. It was a different me because in those increments of time I thought I actually became a winner. The truth, however, is painful. It was a truth that told me with a scratching internal brutality that I was me, and that winning wan't natural for me. It had to be fought for, in the echoes and trodden footprints of my mind. In a way, I had to scavenge for moments of alrightness.

Lua and Marie are holding hands. They look like they're so happy, just inside this moment, watching the kids and the lights on their old fibro house. Lua kisses her. Just softly on the lips. And she kisses back. Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.

People observe the colours of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations, with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colours.