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

Our allotted time is the passing of a shadow.

A watch is always too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated to by a watch.

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

Time rushes toward us with its hospital tray of infinitely varied narcotics, even while it is preparing us for its inevitably fatal operation.