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

We should not say that one man’s hour is worth another man’s hour, but rather that one man during an hour is worth just as much as another man during an hour. Time is everything, man is nothing; he is, at most, time’s carcass.

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

Years are nothing to me—they should be nothing to you. Who asked you to count them or to consider them? In the world of wild nature, time is measured by seasons only—the bird does not know how old it is—the rose tree does not count its birthdays!

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

Our allotted time is the passing of a shadow.

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

The best way to fill time is to waste 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.

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

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.

This is Year Zero.