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.

Time is a veil interposed between God and ourselves, as our eyelid is between our eye and the light.

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

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

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