Years are nothing to me—they should be nothing to you. Who asked you to count them or to consider them? In the world of wild nature, time is measured by seasons only—the bird does not know how old it is—the rose tree does not count its birthdays!

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

Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.

Our allotted time is the passing of a shadow.

I’ve been on a calendar, but never on time.