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.

My stern chase after time is, to borrow a simile from Tom Paine, like the race of a man with a wooden leg after a horse.

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

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

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