Time’s violence rends the soul; by the rent eternity enters.

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.

They say, “We only have the life of this world. We die and we live, and nothing destroys us but time.” Yet, not true knowledge have they of this—only belief.

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

Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.

The best way to fill time is to waste it.

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

Our allotted time is the passing of a shadow.

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.

The past is always tense and the future, perfect.

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

Years are nothing to me—they should be nothing to you. Who asked you to count them or to consider them? In the world of wild nature, time is measured by seasons only—the bird does not know how old it is—the rose tree does not count its birthdays!

The appointed thing comes at the appointed time in the appointed way.