Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.
Time passes, and little by little everything that we have spoken in falsehood becomes true.
No matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away.
Yesterday is but today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream.
Time is a great teacher, but unfortunately it kills all its pupils.
Time passes. That's the rule. No matter what happens, no matter how much it might feel like everything in your life has been frozen around one particular moment, time marches on.
However we pass Time, he passes still, Passing away whatever the pastime, And, whether we use him well or ill, Some day he gives us the slip for the last time.
Time goes, you say? Ah, no! alas, time stays, we go.
Time and tide wait for no man.
The more sand has escaped from the hourglass of our life, the clearer we should see through it.
They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.
Don't say you don't have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michaelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein.
There's much to be said for feeling numb. Time passes more quickly. You eat less, and because numbness encourages laziness, you do fewer things, good or bad, and the world's probably a better place for it.
Time passes unhindered. When we make mistakes, we cannot turn the clock back and try again. All we can do is use the present well.
But sometimes the night reveals the only truth that time passes and things will never be seen the same again.
I've got a passion for what I'm doing and I feel privileged all the time.
We say that time passes, time goes by, and time flows. Those are metaphors. We also think of time as a medium in which we exist.
As time passes, my story fades away.
Time passes, Time the consoler, Time the anodyne.
As time passes, I feel more and more a sense of acting being a fundamental part of who I am.
Time Like a petal in the wind Flows softly by As old lives are taken New ones begin A continual chain Which lasts throughout eternity Every life but a minute in time But each of equal importance
Most things are forgotten over time. Even the war itself, the life-and-death struggle people went through, is now like something from the distant past. We're so caught up in our everyday lives that events of the past, like ancient stars that have burned out, are no longer in orbit around our minds. There are just too many things we have to think about every day, too many new things we have to learn. New styles, new information, new technology, new terminology ... But still, no matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away. They remain with us forever, like a touchstone. And for me, what happened in the woods that day is one of these.
More than the sound of my own beating heart, I miss the sound of a ticking clock. Time passes. It must pass.
Time passes too quickly when you're getting ready to do something you don't want to do.
If the sun is shining, stand in it- yes, yes, yes. Happy times are great, but happy times pass- they have to- because time passes. The pursuit of happiness is more elusive; it is life-long, and it is not goal-centred. What you are pursuing is meaning- a meaningful life... There are times when it will go so wrong that you will be barely alive, and times when you realise that being barely alive, on your own terms, is better than living a bloated half-life on someone else's terms.
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