Our allotted time is the passing of a shadow.

My stern chase after time is, to borrow a simile from Tom Paine, like the race of a man with a wooden leg after a horse.

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

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

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.