Live a little or die a lot. The choice is hours.
You stopped out of fear, or the subconscious assumption that you are immortal, that there will always be time. You promised yourself; Later.
Make time to relax, you are legally entitled to take a break, so what’s stopping you?
Sun benches at the curb bespeak another season, truncated poplars that having served for shade served also later for the fire.
There's a reason we live in time. We are too small a flask [...] to tolerate too much knowing. Instead, truth must drip through us as through a pipette, to allow only moments of apprehension. Moments diffuse and miniature enough to be survived.
Yes, change can be scary, and yes change takes time, but with a firm foundation of positive life change in place, all possibilities and hopes can turn your life in a positive direction.
Time tends to pass you by more quickly when you take no notice of it, my dear. In that, it's remarkably similar to most women I know.
If the old generation is weak-spirited, while the young generation is smooth-tongued, it means that it is not case that you are in the right place at the right time with the right people-- you can hardly do something significant in this social spatio-temporal continuum.
Centuries telescoped into one evanescent moment. History was wrong-footed, caught off guard. Sloughed off like an old snakeskin. Its marks, its scars, its wounds from old wars and the walking backwards days all fell away. In its absence it left an aura, a palpable shimmering that was as plain to see as the water in a river or the sun in the sky. As plain to feel as the heat on a hot day, or the tug of a fish on a taut line. So obvious that no one noticed.
All these openings for closeness--all these humans with their disappointments and their desperate hearts, but it's so much easier, so convenient, to blame emotional distance on a lack of time.
Every leaf that taps against the attic window, every thorn that nestles against the bricks, is part of a barrier that keeps the twentieth century at bay. I have always taken a dim view of the twentieth century, so that I consider this to be a laudable amibition.
8I ricordi veramente belli continuano a vivere e a splendere per sempre, pulsando dolorosamente assieme al tempo che passa.
They grow up so quickly, don’t they?” when all you really mean is: time goes faster for me nowadays. Margaret’s
They grow up so quickly, don’t they?” when all you really mean is: time goes faster for me nowadays.
Time has a funny way of helping us come to terms with any event, no matter how horrible.
What had Old Joe Hunt answered when I knowingly claimed that history was the lies of the victors? “As long as you remember that it is also the self-delusions of the defeated.” Do we remember that enough when it comes to our private lives?
+ It's a small fraction of world population - about 0.000000303 percent - but it seems like plenty to you. + You begin to complain about all the people you could be meeting. But one one listens or symphathizes with you, because this is what you chose when you where alive. + You choice to slide down the intelligence ladder is irreversible. + Sometimes we listen and pay attention to the plot of the dream. More often we talk among ourselves and wait for our shift to end. + Much of your existence took place in the eyes, ears, and fingertips of others. The mirrors are held up in front of you.
Time was, time will be again.
Night has fallen. And it will last for a very long time.
This is time for us. Memory. A nostalgia. The pain of absence. But it isn't absence that causes sorrow. It is affection and love. Without affection, without love, such absences would cause us no pain. For this reason, even the pain caused by absence is in the end something good and even beautiful. Because it feeds on that which gives meaning to life.
