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

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

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.

Time’s ruins build eternity’s mansions.

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.

Our allotted time is the passing of a shadow.

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

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.

No preacher is listened to but time, which gives us the same train and turn of thought that elder people have in vain tried to put into our heads before.

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

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