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

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

The past is always tense and the future, perfect.

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.

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

We should not say that one man’s hour is worth another man’s hour, but rather that one man during an hour is worth just as much as another man during an hour. Time is everything, man is nothing; he is, at most, time’s carcass.

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

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.

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

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

The appointed thing comes at the appointed time in the appointed way.

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.

Our allotted time is the passing of a shadow.