No preacher is listened to but time, which gives us the same train and turn of thought that elder people have in vain tried to put into our heads before.

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

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

Those who make the worst use of their time are the first to complain of its brevity.

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

I look for the end of the future, but it never ceases to arrive. 

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

There is no work of human hands which time does not wear away and reduce to dust.

Time’s ruins build eternity’s mansions.

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.

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

Time’s violence rends the soul; by the rent eternity enters.

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