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

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.

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

Nothing puzzles me more than time and space, and yet nothing puzzles me less, for I never think about them.

In time history must become a fairy tale—it will become again what it was in the beginning.