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

The best way to fill time is to waste it.

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

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

Time rushes toward us with its hospital tray of infinitely varied narcotics, even while it is preparing us for its inevitably fatal operation.

In time history must become a fairy tale—it will become again what it was in the beginning.

Time, when it is left to itself and no definite demands are made on it, cannot be trusted to move at any recognized pace. Usually it loiters, but just when one has come to count upon its slowness, it may suddenly break into a wild irrational gallop.

Time’s ruins build eternity’s mansions.

Our allotted time is the passing of a shadow.

This is Year Zero.

I look for the end of the future, but it never ceases to arrive. 

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

The past is always tense and the future, perfect.