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

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.

They say, “We only have the life of this world. We die and we live, and nothing destroys us but time.” Yet, not true knowledge have they of this—only belief.

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.