Jangan pernah menjaminkan rasa kepada waktu. Ia punya masa kedaluwarsanya.
I fantasize the night sky to be like a cosmic blue print of my life as I close my eyes and unbutton my heart…. just in case anyone up there is listening.
I saw a news report recently that measured average video game use by American men between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five: twenty hours per week. Do you mean the flower of America’s masculinity can’t think of anything more important to do with twenty hours a week than sit in front of a video screen? Folks, this ain’t normal. Can’t we unplug already?
What is it about the moment you fall in love? How can such a small measure of time contain such enormity?
Time, as far as my father was concerned, was a gift you gave to other people.
I feel an affinity with the Shard, even though it is a symbol of the wealth and status I am so far removed from. It was just an idea when I first arrived there and it grew up in the city at the same rate I did. I like that I can remember a time when it did not exist. It is proof that time is moving forward, especially during those days when I am sliding backwards.
Rise from that nasty fall. Yes, you may be covered in dust and all, but it is now time to rise with your all.
Thank you for sending me a copy of your book. I’ll waste no time reading it.
But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you.
I planned my life by the hour as closely as one plans a year, and no further than an hour.
To stay ahead in the fast and furious world, slow down and think!
Fantasy, if it’s really convincing, can’t become dated, for the simple reason that it represents a flight into a dimension that lies beyond the reach of time.
Josh had told me a long time ago that he had this theory that an entire relationship was based on what occurred over the course of the first five minutes you know each other. That everything that came after those first minutes was just details being filled in. Meaning: you already knew how deep the love was, how instinctually you felt about someone.What happened in their first five minutes?Time stopped.
Time travel me back.Let me say good-bye again.A minute more, a moment,a chance to see. . .
In the blink of an eye, babies appear in carriages, coffins disappear into the ground, wars are won and lost, and children transform, like butterflies, into adults.The Invention of Hugo Selnick (screenplay Hugo)
I must reluctantly observe that two causes, the abbreviation of time, and the failure of hope, will always tinge with a browner shade the evening of life.
Through memory we travel against time, through forgetfulness we follow its course.
If you don’t use your life as a strainer from time to time, you will not get a beautiful and pure product.
When you start something, make sure that you’re willing to take the time to finish it right because, honey, the work you put into it will be more than worth it in the end. The best things always are.
One of the great disadvantages of hurry is that it takes such a long time.
The one thing I regret is that I will never have time to read all the books I want to read.
I have failed so many times, but that’s okay I’m ready to try again
The river is now. This moment. This breath between us. The space between your heartbeats. The moment before you blink. The instant a thought flashes through your mind. It is everything that is around us. Life. Energy. Flowing, endlessly flowing, carrying you from then…to now…to tomorrow. Listen: you can hear the music of it. Of the passage of time.
And there is neither beginning nor end, nor past nor future; there is only a present, at the same time static and ephemeral, multiple and absolute. It is the vital ocean in which we all share, according to our strength, our needs or our desires.
History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.
At first glance her beauty was striking—fresh-faced and delicate with large eyes, her little black dress cinched at the waist, her hair pinned in a chignon. At second glance, her deep, intelligent eyes were entrancing, still vivid on newspapers yellowed from light and air and lined with age that Fate didn’t offer to her.
I love him in ways that I can’t explain to other people. They don’t understand… it’s not their fault.
You see, this happened a few months ago, but it’s still going on right now, and it ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we’re talking about when we talk about love.
Time was cruel and it was brief. It was merciful and patient. It was fragile and easily broken. It was bright and way too fast. Cherish every god damn moment. ‘Cause spring would not last.
I persuade Dad to take me to Miguel’s.At dinner his favorite topic of conversation is the space-time continuum.This is interesting becausespaceandtimeare the only two thingsI actually wish he would give me.I just don’t know how to tell him that.
The question ‘What was there before creation?’ is meaningless. Time is a property of creation, therefore before creation there was no before creation.
Understanding the times is a precondition of responding appropriately to the times. And understanding the times requires a knowledge of the history that has led up to the present.
If someone is always to blame, if every time something goes wrong someone has to be punished, people quickly stop taking risks. Without risks, there can’t be breakthroughs.
But then comes a time when forgetting isn’t possible. And I do mean a particular time when no amount of dreaming, not then and maybe not ever, can change how naked and unimportant we become in our own eyes.
Don’t waste your time with explanations: people only hear what they want to hear.
I wrote articles about rich athletes who, for the most part, could not care less about people like me. .. My days were full, yet I remained, much of the time, unsatisfied. What happened to me?
It was well said—by Jean Tarrou in The Plague, I think—that attendance at lectures in an unknown language will help to hone one’s awareness of the exceedingly slow passage of time. I once had the experience of being ‘waterboarded’ and can now dimly appreciate how much every second counts in the experience of the torture victim, forced to go on enduring what is unendurable.
Both past and future are but illusions, mere phantoms birthed by the wanderer mind. They are echoes and whispers, devoid of the tangible solidity of the present moment. We become the masters of time, not by traversing its illusory breadth, but by plunging into the depth of the present moment.
Dormant Twitter accounts are fascinating, because they are like historical fragments. Each tweet is a word sculpture shaped by a moment that has been preserved through time.
Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.
The Ephemerality of Ideas: Here at 2 – Gone by 2:15 … It is only by capturing, quickly, that sudden inspiration that we prevent a creative opportunity from being lost forever.
All time exists now, and I am present and ready for life with all its vitality
I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time.
Would you accept time stopping just for you? If you do, you will be making a big ethical mistake because you will live forever, but your loved ones will disappear as time progresses!
In Russia I felt for the first time like a full human being. No color prejudice like in Mississippi, no color prejudice like in Washington. It was the first time I felt like a human being.
A man’s life can pivot on the smallest hinge of time. No minute is without potential for momentous change, and each tick of the clock might be the voice of Fate whispering a promise or a warning.
August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.
Our nemesis is time, against which we have a single ally, memory, and even it betrays us.
In the end, Nora, there’s only time. All we have is time…and even if this wasn’t happening, we still don’t ever have much…no one does. We only have the moment we’re in. We have right now.
The problem with being alive, I can tell you now, is that it happens so fast, we don’t have the time to make sense of it in the same way that you can once you’re dead.
There is no real thing of time travel in the science fiction sense. It’s more a matter of matching vibrations with a moment similar in a parallel reality. It may look almost identical and you may not be able to tell the difference, but you are actually not in your own past, you are in a parallel reality that looks like what you experience as the past, but it’s not yours in that sense.
The passing time is painful. I have lost the art of moving simply, naturally, within it. I am swept back against its flow. Angry, vindictive, it pierces me all the time, all the time with its spikes.
For time is the essential ingredient; but in the modern world there is no time.
Time had some score of small voices in that shop, some stately and slow as was becoming to their great gar, others garrulous and hurried. All these told out the seconds in an intricate chorus of tickings.
I spur my horse past the ruined city;the ruined city, that wakes the traveler’s thoughts:ancient battlements, high and low;old grave mounds, great and small.Where the shadow of a single tumbleweed tremblesand the voice of the great trees clings forever,I sigh over all these common bones –No roll of the immortals bears their names.
When a man is about to die, it is would be a great sin, would it not, to waste what time he has left to him.