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’s ruins build eternity’s mansions.

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

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

Our allotted time is the passing of a shadow.