The past is always tense and the future, perfect.

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

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 violence rends the soul; by the rent eternity enters.

The celestial machine is to be likened not to a divine organism but rather to a clockwork.