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

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

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

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.

Those who make the worst use of their time are the first to complain of its brevity.

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

The past is always tense and the future, perfect.

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.

This is Year Zero.

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.

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

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