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

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

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

The best way to fill time is to waste it.

The appointed thing comes at the appointed time in the appointed way.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

This is Year Zero.

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!