Time goes, you say? Ah, no! alas, time stays, we go.
Time is the coin of life. Only you can determine how it will be spent.
Time is what we want most, but what we use worst.
For disappearing acts, it's hard to beat what happens to the eight hours supposedly left after eight of sleep and eight of work.
Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you.
Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.
But what minutes! Count them by sensation, and not by calendars, and each moment is a day.
Only when the clock stops does time come to life
Old Time, that greatest and longest established spinner of all!... his factory is a secret place, his work is noiseless, and his Hands are mutes.
For time is the longest distance between two places.
A good holiday is one spent among people whose notions of time are vaguer than yours.
It strikes! one, two, Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch, Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and rest; Would thou could'st make the time to do so too; I'll wind thee up no more.
The flower that you hold in your hands was born today and already it is as old as you are.
Sometimes I feel that life is passing me by, not slowly either, but with ropes of steam and spark - spattered wheels and a hoarse roar of power or terror. It's passing, yet I'm the one who's doing all the moving.
Men talk of killing time, while time quietly kills them.
You must have been warned against letting the golden hours slip by; but some of them are golden only because we let them slip by.
The future is something which everyone reaches at the rate of 60 minutes an hour, whatever he does, whoever he is.
As if you could kill time without injuring eternity.
It is a strange thing, but when you are dreading something, and would give anything to slow down time, it has a disobliging habit of speeding up.
Much may be done in those little shreds and patches of time which every day produces, and which most men throw away.