Our allotted time is the passing of a shadow.

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

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.

Thou art not to learn the humors and tricks of that old bald cheater, time.

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

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

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.

The past is always tense and the future, perfect.

 Do not lessen the time of following desire, for the wasting of time is an abomination to the spirit.

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

My stern chase after time is, to borrow a simile from Tom Paine, like the race of a man with a wooden leg after a horse.

Time’s ruins build eternity’s mansions.

Nothing puzzles me more than time and space, and yet nothing puzzles me less, for I never think about them.