Time’s ruins build eternity’s mansions.

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

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

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

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

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

Time is a veil interposed between God and ourselves, as our eyelid is between our eye and the light.

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.

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

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

The best way to fill time is to waste it.

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

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.