When your kids have school summer holidays, and you can match your schedule to meet their time demands for the entire holiday period, that is your money at work for you - aka Financial Freedom
Time defeats losers. Time inspires winners.
There are no particles. There are only moments in time.
Time is Clock of the Universe!
A memory is a ledge on the mountainside of the mind; there we are, drinking and chatting, and on the ledge below us my dad sits in his chair, dead, his face smeared with blood.
The truth is somewhere in the middle of each thing which you read... in it's in the middle... to find it... you need time... but time in it's the essence, right now!
Credeam că ce ai o dată, rămâne al tău până la moarte.
Future can alter your past too, perhaps no wise man has told this before.
Love comes and goes, pitching its mansion. And on the circular track of days, it appears that Dread is gaining on Devotion every second.
It is a scientific fact that time is infinitely divisible, that each moment contains within it the fragments of a thousand others, and each of them can be splintered into a thousand more, and so on and so on. Somewhere then, hidden within these shards of time that occur in the endless instants between the second hand, Cinnabar moved, setting his webbed palm around the pistol at his waist and fanning off two shots. To the subjective observer, however - to Angie and her unfortunate sibling - the salamander's movements were impossible to follow. Before their brains could process the information gathered by their senses, perhaps even before their senses had recognized the stimulus itself, bits of iron had exploded through their skulls and made either act impossible.
Whenever I’m not writing, time trudges forward with the maddening, mortifying, miserable, morose, moribund pace of a funeral procession.
Now and then, the passage of time seems acutely apparent. Physical pain always sharpens the awareness.
I've climbed up here holding the hilt of time's sword by driving it into my tender heart.
Time will sweep us away, but our words will remain long after we settle into the dark.
If you've ever tried to keep a diary, then you'll know that the problem of trying to write about the past really starts in the present: No matter how fast you write, you're always stuck in the then and you can never catch up to what's happening now; which means that now is pretty much doomed to extinction.
The courthouse clock struck nine and it was getting late and it was really night on this small street in a small town in a big state on a large continent on a planet earth hurtling down the pit of space toward nowhere or somewhere and Tom feeling every mile of the long drop.
Dad lived in fear of time. He felt it stalking him. I could see it in the worried glances he gave the sun as it moved across the sky, in the anxious way he appraised every length of pipe or cut of steel. Dad saw every piece of scrap as the money it could be sold for, minus the time needed to sort, cut and deliver it.
You tell me, my dear child, you wish Time would fly more rapidly: alas! You know not what you say. He will obey you but too implicitly; he will overtake you before you are aware, and when you would restrain his impetuous career, it will not be in your power. I was formerly guilty of the same fault, of which I now repent; and, though he has been more lenient with me than he has been with many others, yet I trace his depredating progress in the loss of a thousand little charms, of which he has robbed me.
We all are sailing in the same boat called Time which is heading towards Death.
The Minotaur comes and goes. He has for centuries. And there have been many bridges. The Minotaur pauses, as he walks, midway through the covered bridge that serves, in more ways than one, as the entrance to Old Scald Village. He rests his heavy snout against one of the wooden trusses. The Minotaur likes this portal, both ingress and egress, a breach in the terribly human construct of time.
