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

The past grows gradually around one, like a placenta for dying.

This is Year Zero.

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.

We should not say that one man’s hour is worth another man’s hour, but rather that one man during an hour is worth just as much as another man during an hour. Time is everything, man is nothing; he is, at most, time’s carcass.