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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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.