Time goes, you say? Ah, no! alas, time stays, we go.
But what minutes! Count them by sensation, and not by calendars, and each moment is a day.
Men talk of killing time, while time quietly kills them.
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.
Only when the clock stops does time come to life
I must govern the clock, not be governed by it.
As if you could kill time without injuring eternity.
In reality, killing time is only the name for another of the multifarious ways by which Time kills us.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
Don't watch the clock; do what it does. Keep going.
All my possessions for a moment of time.
The clock talked loud. I threw it away, it scared me what it talked.
It is largely dissynchronous timing standards that have kept human beings off-balance and alienated from the natural cycles of the Earth they inhabit. The worst culprit is the Gregorian calendar, and by extension the "12:60 frequency" that it fosters - together these have become, in essence, the inescapable time clock of globalist capitalism.
Life is long. Just because you don't get your chance right when you want or expect it doesn't mean it won't come. Fate doesn't punch a time clock or consult a schedule.
I wish there really was such a thing as a Time-Clock Puncher, though. I wish some gigantic, surly, stone-fisted Soap Mahoney-type guy went around the world smashing every clock in sight till there weren't any more and people got so confused about when to go to the mill or school or church that they gave up and did something interesting instead.
At least the Pilgrim Fathers used to shoot Indians: the Pilgrim Children merely punch time clocks.
Time clocks rob the world of wild possibility. That's what they're for.
or simply:
