All Quotes By Tag: Time

“Time for us began to be measured by moments when we spoke, and moments when we longed to speak again.”

“Without solitude, we are overwhelmed by all the things we hope to do and all of the things we hope to do and all of the things we are planning and praying to do but we never really have the time to actually get down and get these things done.”

“At the sound of my name, those two worlds on either side of me collide, and my lips meet his. Time ceases to exist, and so, apparently does any logic that my mind is hanging on to. Logic would say that this is insane; every other fibre of my being says it’s right.”

“… Time is not something you give back. The very next moment may be an answer to your prayer. To deny that is to deny the most important part of the future.”“ What’s that?”“Hope.”

“I think I fell in love with you that amazing night on the kitchen floor. Or maybe it was the evening you stepped up and set my arm.” Testing things, he reached for her hand, and, to his joy, she glared, but she let him take it. “Or maybe the night I knew I loved you was when I kissed you under the mistletoe on Christmas Eve. It’s hard to say because I look at you now and it seems to me there’s never been a time when I didn’t love you.”

“Even a broken watch is correct twice a day.”

“But time is a cruel mistress, and it was not until much years later that she would learn the truth: that there is no such thing as salvation, an escape is only ever an illusion conjured up by the hopeful.”

“Dream up ways to allow your freedom to not be anchored to a job.”

“We still need the old to tell the young that in time they will learn.”

“When a country is defeated, there remain only mountains and rivers, and on a ruined castle in spring only grasses thrive. I sat down on my hat and wept bitterly till I almost forgot time.A thicket of summer grassIs all that remainsOf the dreams and ambitionsOf ancient warriors.”

“I spit into the face of Time That has transfigured me.”

“These wrinkles are nothingThese gray hairs are nothing,This stomach which sagswith old food, these bruisedand swollen ankles, my darkening brain,they are nothing.I am the same boymy mother used to kiss.”

“Right now is the time of repentance.”

“It has been a week since Ami died and this morning I woke suddenly hours before dawn, indeed the same hour as when my mother died. It was not a dream that woke me, but a thought. And with that thought I could swear I heard Ami’s voice. But I am not frightened. I am joyous. Joyous with realization. For I cannot help but think what a lucky person I am. Imagine that in all the eons of time, in all the possible universes of which Dara speaks, of all the stars in the heavens, Ami and I came together for one brief and shining sliver of time. I stop. I think.Supposing in the grand infinity of this universe two particles of life, Ami and me, swirl endlessly like grains of sand in the oceans of the world — how much of a chance is there for these two particles, these two grains of sand, to collide, to rest briefly together… at the same moment in time? That is what happened with Ami and me… this miracle of chance.”

“When the last autumn of Dickens’s life was over, he continued to work through his final winter and into spring. This is how all of us writers give away the days and years and decades of our lives in exchange for stacks of paper with scratches and squiggles on them. And when Death calls, how many of us would trade all those pages, all that squandered lifetime-worth of painfully achieved scratches and squiggles, for just one more day, one more fully lived and experienced day? And what price would we writers pay for that one extra day spent with those we ignored while we were locked away scratching and squiggling in our arrogant years of solipsistic isolation?Would we trade all those pages for a single hour? Or all of our books for one real minute?”