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

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

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

This is Year Zero.

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

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.

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.

The best way to fill time is to waste it.

The past is always tense and the future, perfect.

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.

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

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!