The time feels like it's less if we stay quietly.
Time doesn't click on and on at the stroke. It comes and goes in waves and folds like water; it flutters and sifts like dust, rises, billows, falls back on itself. When a wave breaks, the water is not moving. The swell has traveled great distances but only the energy is moving, not the waves. Perhaps time moves through us and not through it.
We cannot cage the minute Within its nets of gold.
I was overcome by an impulse to stop time right there and limit the world to what I saw before me.
Language has time as its element; all other media have space as their element. Music is the only other one that takes place in time.
One goes on. And the time, too, goes on--till one perceives ahead a shadow-line warning one that the region of early youth, too, must be left behind.
Time touches all things with destroying hand; and if he seem now and then to bestow the bloom of youth, the sap of spring, it is but a brief mockery, to be surely and swiftly followed by the wrinkles of old age, the dry leaves and bare branches of winter.
This is what I mean when I say I would like to swim against the stream of time: I would like to erase the consequences of certain events and restore an initial condition.
Time did not stand still. In some ways it would have been better if it had. Then there at least would have been an end to hope.
Time is a man, space is a woman.
Man alone measures time. Man alone chimes the hour. And, because of this, man alone suffers a paralyzing fear that no other creature endures. A fear of time running out.
There is a reason God limits our days.” “Why?” “To make each one precious.
Time and tide wait for no man. A year passed like a snowflake that falls into the river, a moment white and then gone forever.
Time is not what you think. Dying? Not the end of everything. We think it is. But what happens on Earth is only the beginning.
The clocks slid back an hour and stole light from my life.
And I began to realize why Kevin and I had fitted in so easily into this time. We weren't really in. We were observers watching a show. We were watching history happen around us. And we were actors.
The hands of the clock buried inside her soul ground to a halt then. Time outside, of course, flows on as always, but she isn’t affected by it. For her, what we consider normal time is essentially meaningless.