If both what is before and what is after are in this same “now,” things which happened ten thousand years ago would be simultaneous with what has happened today, and nothing would be before or after anything else.

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.

Our allotted time is the passing of a shadow.

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

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

Time, when it is left to itself and no definite demands are made on it, cannot be trusted to move at any recognized pace. Usually it loiters, but just when one has come to count upon its slowness, it may suddenly break into a wild irrational gallop.

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

Without music to decorate it, time is just a bunch of boring production deadlines or dates by which bills must be paid.

Time’s ruins build eternity’s mansions.

 Do not lessen the time of following desire, for the wasting of time is an abomination to the spirit.

They say, “We only have the life of this world. We die and we live, and nothing destroys us but time.” Yet, not true knowledge have they of this—only belief.

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