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

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

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.

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

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

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

The best way to fill time is to waste it.

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

The past is always tense and the future, perfect.

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.

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!

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

Our allotted time is the passing of a shadow.