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

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

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.

Time’s ruins build eternity’s mansions.

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