If both what is before and what is after are in this same “now,” things which happened ten thousand years ago would be simultaneous with what has happened today, and nothing would be before or after anything else.

A watch is always too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated to by a watch.

Our allotted time is the passing of a shadow.

The past is always tense and the future, perfect.

This is Year Zero.

We wish away whole years, and travel through time as through a country filled with many wild and empty wastes, which we would fain hurry over, that we may arrive at those several little settlements or imaginary points of rest which are dispersed up and down in it.

Time’s ruins build eternity’s mansions.

Time is a veil interposed between God and ourselves, as our eyelid is between our eye and the light.

The celestial machine is to be likened not to a divine organism but rather to a clockwork.

The past grows gradually around one, like a placenta for dying.

Without music to decorate it, time is just a bunch of boring production deadlines or dates by which bills must be paid.

I’ve been on a calendar, but never on time.

There is no work of human hands which time does not wear away and reduce to dust.