C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.
Time is the chrysalis of eternity.
Time is an herb that cures all diseases.
Time is the Life of the Soul.
Time’s abyss, the common grave of all.
Time is the greatest of innovators.
Time tries the troth in everything.
Time is the herald of truth.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
The inaudible and noiseless foot of time.
Time is the nurser and breeder of all good.
Time wasted is existence; used, is life.
Time is the wisest counsellor.
Old Time, the clock setter, that bald sexton, Time.
Time makes more converts than reason.
We should count time by heart-throbs.
The use of time is fate.
Time stoops to no man’s lure.
Time is the greatest remedy for anger.
When time itself shall be no more.
We take no note of time but from its loss.
And panting Time toil’d after him in vain.
Who loses a day loses life.
Art is Long, and Time is fleeting.
If you have time don’t wait for time.
Time has only a relative existence.
Rich with the spoils of time.
They that drive away time spur a free horse.
The happier the time, the quicker it passes.
These are the times that try men’s souls.
Thou nursest all, and murderest all, that are.
The sublime is contained in a grain of dust.
To choosy time is to save time.
Time,—the most independent of all things.
Time passes, Time the consoler, Time the anodyne.
Time, which strengthens friendship, weakens love.
Time that devours all things.
He who gains time gains everything.
Every day travels toward death; the last only arrives at it.
Thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.
Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.
Time is generally the best medicine.
The hours fly along in a circle.
Time stands with impartial law.
One day is pressed on by another.
Alas! the fleeting years are passing away.
Time steals away without any inconvenience.
That old bald cheater, Time.
Time is itself an element.
Time will run back and fetch the age of gold.
The swift hour flies on double wings.
In records that defy the tooth of time.
The longest day soon comes to an end.
Time conquers all, and we must Time obey.
The irreclaimable time flies.
O, call back yesterday, bid time return.
Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.
Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.
Time rolls his ceaseless course.
Thus at Time’s humming loom I ply.
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
His time’s forever, everywhere his place.
Nae man can tether time or tide.
What does not destructive time destroy?
Man seems to be deficient in nothing so much as he is in time.
Time,—that black and narrow isthmus between two eternities.
Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow claspest the limits of mortality.
As if you could kill time without injuring eternity.
The end crowns all; and that old common arbitrator, Time, will one day end it.
The great rule of moral conduct is, next to God, to respect time.
Whatever passes away is too vile to be the price of time, which is itself the price of eternity.
O time! whose verdicts mock our own, the only righteous judge art thou!
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, and delves the parallels in beauty’s brow.
One always has time enough, if one will apply it well.
Think with terror on the slow, the quiet power of time.
Time never bears such moments on his wing as when he flies too swiftly to be marked.
Time is, after all, the greatest of poets; and the sons of Memory stand a better chance of being the heirs of Fame.
Those that dare lose a day are dangerously prodigal; those that dare misspend it, desperate.
Time antiquates antiquities, and hath an art to make dust of all things.
Time travels in divers paces with divers persons.
The velocity with which time flies is infinite, as is most apparent to those who look back.
Time destroys the speculations of man, but it confirms the judgment of nature.
Time well employed is Satan’s deadliest foe; it leaves no opening for the lurking fiend.
Dost thou love life, then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of.
Time, O my friend, is money! Time wasted can never conduce to money well managed.
As every thread of gold is valuable, so is every minute of time.
The curtains of Yesterday drop down, the curtains of To-morrow roll up; but Yesterday and To-morrow both are.
He is a good time-server that improves the present for God’s glory and his own salvation.
No person will have occasion to complain of the want of time, who never loses any.
The vicious count their years; the virtuous their acts.
How slowly the hours pass to the unhappy.
Time is a wave which never murmurs, because there is no obstacle to its flow.
He briskly and cheerfully asked him how a man should kill time.
Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try.
We see time’s furrows on another’s brow; how few themselves in that just mirror see!
It is only necessary to give to each thing the time which it claims.
Time is a great ocean which, like the other ocean, overflows with our remains.
Time steals on and escapes us, like the swift river that glides on with rapid stream.
“Time restores all things.” Wrong! Time restores many things, but eternity alone restores all.
How long the night seems to one kept awake by pain.
Each passing year robs us of some possession.
Stones are hollowed out by the constant dropping of water.
Time, the prime minister of death! there’s nought can bribe his honest will.
Great events are the hour-hands of time, while small events mark the minutes.
Triumph not, O Time! strong towers decay, but a great name shall never pass away.
The slow sweet hours that bring us all things good.
The quarter of an hour before dinner is the worst that suitors can choose.
Time is the shower of Danae; each drop is golden.
Time hath often cured the wound which reason failed to heal.
All must yield to the weight of years; conquest is not difficult for time.
Time on his head has snowed, yet still ’tis borne aloft.
A fig for Time! Use him well, and he’s a hearty fellow.
You may be more prodigal of time than of money.
Let time that makes you homely, make you sage.
The wisest are the most annoyed at the loss of time.
We must improve our time; time goes with rapid foot.
The wheel of time rolls downward through various changes.
No time is too short for the wicked to injure their neighbors.
I see that time divided is never long, and that regularity abridges all things.
Eternity gives nothing back of what one leaves out of the minutes.
To the true teacher, time’s hourglass should still run gold-dust.
The flood of time is setting on; we stand upon its brink.
Old Time, who changes all below to wean men gently for the grave.
Time is like money? the less we have of it to spare, the farther we make it go.
Time is precious; but truth is more precious than time.
The crutch of Time accomplishes more than the club of Hercules.
I am satisfied to trifle away my time, rather than let it stick by me.
River is time in water; as it came, still so it flows, yet never is the same.
For time consecrates, and what is gray with age becomes religion.
Short as life is, we make it still shorter by the careless waste of time.
Who knows what may be slumbering in the background of time!
Grief counts the seconds; happiness forgets the hours.
I dislike clocks with second-hands; they cut up life into too small pieces.
O Time! Time! how it brings forth and devours! And the roaring flood of existence rushes on forever similar, forever changing!
Time is like a river, in which metals and solid substances are sunk, while chaff and straws swim upon the surface.
Remorseless time! fierce spirit of the glass and scythe,—what power can stay him in his silent course, or melt his iron heart with pity!
Time is the king of men; he is both their parent, and he is their grave, and gives them what he will, not what they crave.
Time destroys the groundless conceits of man, but confirms that which is founded on nature and reality.
Time is a continual over-dropping of moments, which fall down one upon the other and evaporate.
Time knows not the weight of sleep or weariness, and night’s deep darkness has no chain to bind his rushing pinion.
Time will bring to light whatever is hidden; it will conceal and cover up what is now shining with the greatest splendor.
Man has here two and a half minutes,—one to smile, one to sigh, and half an one to love; for in the midst of this minute he dies.
Time, with all its celerity, moves slowly on to him whose whole employment is to watch its flight.
Who shall contend with time,—unvanquished time, the conqueror of conquerors and lord of desolation?
Time has been given only for us to exchange each year of our life with the remembrance of truth.
Time is the measurer of all things, but is itself immeasureable; and the grand discloser of all things, but is itself undisclosed.
Nobody has ever found the gods so much his friends that he can promise himself another day.
Beauty, wit, high birth, vigor of bone, desert in service, love, friendship, charity, are subjects all to envious and calumniating time.
Day follows on the murkiest night, and, when the time comes, the latest fruits will ripen.
Part with it as with money, sparing; pay no moment but in purchase of its worth: and what its worth ask death-beds; they can tell.
God is the only being who has time enough; but a prudent man, who knows how to seize occasion, can commonly make a shift to find as much as he needs.
Twenty ages sunk in eternal night. They are without movement, without light, and without noise.
Time is given us that we may take care for eternity; and eternity will not be too long to regret the loss of our time if we have misspent it.
Time is the greatest of all tyrants. All we go on towards age, he taxes our health, limbs, faculties, strength, and features.
Imitate time; it destroys everything slowly; it undermines, it wears away, it detaches, it does not wrench.
Observe a method in the distribution of your time. Every hour will then know its proper employment, and no time will be lost.
Time, the corrector when our judgments err, the test of truth and love; sole philosopher, for all besides are sophists.
Time is a blooming field; nature is ever teeming with life; and all is seed, and all is fruit.
If you could throw as an alms to those who would use it well the time that you fritter away, how many beggars would become rich!
Time, as a river, hath brought down to us what is more light and superficial, while things more solid and substantial have been immersed.
I never knew the old gentleman with the scythe and hour-glass bring anything but gray hairs, thin cheeks, and loss of teeth.
Nor do they speak properly who say that time consumeth all things; for time is not effective, nor are bodies destroyed by it.
Still on it creeps, each little moment at another’s heels, till hours, days, years, and ages are made up.
But what minutes! Count them by sensation, and not by calendars, and each moment is a day and the race a life.
Time, to the nation as to the individual, is nothing absolute; its duration depends on the rate of thought and feeling.
Loitering slow, the future creepeth; arrow-swift, the present sweepeth; and motionless forever stands the past.
Nothing lies on our hands with such uneasiness as time. Wretched and thoughtless creatures! In the only place where covetousness were a virtue we turn prodigals.
There are no fragments so precious as those of time, and none are so heedlessly lost by people who cannot make a moment, and yet can waste years.
As nothing truly valuable can be attained without industry, so there can be no persevering industry without a deep sense of the value of time.
Time sheds a softness on remote objects or events, as local distance imparts to the landscape a smoothness and mellowness which disappear on a nearer approach.
We sleep, but the loom of life never stops; and the pattern which was weaving when the sun went down is weaving when it comes up to-morrow.
Opinions, theories, and systems pass by turns over the grindstone of time, which at first gives them brilliancy and sharpness, but finally wears them out.
A year! A life! What are they! The telling of a tale, the passing of a meteor, a dim speck seen for a moment on time’s horizon dropping into eternity.
Time is painted with a lock before, and bald behind, signifying thereby, that we must take time (as we say) by the forelock, for when it is once passed there is no recalling it.
Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered, for they are gone forever!
Make use of time, if thou valuest eternity. Yesterday cannot be recalled; to-morrow cannot be assured; to-day only is thine, which, if thou procrastinatest, thou losest; which loss is lost forever.
Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year. No man has learned anything rightly until he knows that every day is Doomsday.
Time, the cradle of hope, but the grave of ambition, is the stern corrector of fools, but the salutary counselor of the wise, bringing all they dread to the one, and all they desire to the other.
Know the true value of time; match, seize, and enjoy every moment of it. No idleness, no laziness, no procrastination; never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day.
Time hurries on with a resistless, unremitting stream, yet treads more soft than e’er did midnight thief, that slides his hand under the miser’s pillow and carries off the prize.
Time, whose tooth gnaws away everything else, is powerless against truth; and the lapse of more than two thousand years has not weakened the force of these wise words.
Time passes cold and indifferent over us; it knows nothing of our joys or sorrows; it leads us with ice-cold hand deeper and deeper into the labyrinth.
Time is the most undefinable yet paradoxical of things; the past is gone, the future is not come, and the present becomes the past, even while we attempt to define it, and, like the flash of the lightning, at once exists and expires.
God, who is liberal in all his other gifts, shows us, by the wise economy of His providence, how circumspect we ought to be in the management of our time, for He never gives us two moments together.
There is nothing of which we are apt to be so lavish as of time, and about which we ought to be more solicitous, since without it we can do nothing in this world. Time is what we want most, but what, alas! we use worst.
Time is like a ship which never anchors; while I am on board, I had better do those things that may profit me at my landing, than practice such as shall cause my commitment when I come ashore.
What is time? The shadow on the dial, the striking of the clock, the running of the sand—day and night, summer and winter, months, years, centuries—these are but arbitrary and outward signs, the measure of time, not time itself. Time is the life of the soul.
Our lives are either spent in doing nothing at all, or in doing nothing to the purpose, or in doing nothing that we ought to do. We are always complaining that our days are few, and acting as though there would be no end to them.
Our acts of kindness we reserve for our friends, our bounties for our dependants, our riches for our children and relations, our praises for those who appear worthy of them, our time we give all to the world; we expose it, I may say, a prey to all mankind.
If time, like money, could be laid by while one was not using it, there might be some excuse for the idleness of half the world, but yet not a full one. For even this would be such an economy as the living on a principal sum, without making it purchase interest.
Observe a method in the distribution of your time. Every hour will then know its proper employment, and no time will be lost. Idleness will be shut out at every avenue, and with her that numerous body of vices that make up her train.
The greatest loss of time is delay and expectation, which depends upon the future. We let go the present, which we have in our power, and look forward to that which depends upon chance—and so relinquish a certainty for an uncertainty.
Time is but a stream I go a fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom, and detect how shallow it is. Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains. I would drink deeper, fish in the sky, whose bottom is pebbly with stars.
Time is scytheless and toothless; it is we who gnaw like the worm; we who smite like the scythe. It is ourselves who abolish, ourselves who consume; we are the mildew and the flame, and the soul of man is to its own work as the moth that frets when it cannot fly, and as the hidden flame that blasts where it cannot illumine.
Time sadly overcometh all things, and is now dominant, and sitteth upon a sphinx, and looketh unto Memphis and old Thebes, while his sister Oblivion reclineth semi-somnous on a pyramid, gloriously triumphing, making puzzles of Titanian erections, and turning old glories into dreams.
Alas! it is not till Time, with reckless hand, has torn out half the leaves from the Book of Human Life to light the fires of human passion with, from day to day, that man begins to see that the leaves which remain are few in number.
Think not thy time short in this world, since the world itself is not long. The created world is but a small parenthesis in eternity, and a short interposition, for a time, between such a state of duration as was before it and may be after it.
That great mystery of time, were there no other; the illimitable, silent, never-resting thing called time, rolling, rushing on, swift, silent, like an all-embracing ocean-tide, on which we and all the universe swim like exhalations, like apparitions which are, and then are not: this is forever very literally a miracle; a thing to strike us dumb, for we have no word to speak about it.
The best general means to insure the profitable employment of our time is to accustom ourselves to living in continual dependence upon the Spirit of God and His law, receiving, every instant, whatever He is pleased to bestow; consulting Him in every emergency requiring instant action, and having recourse to Him in our weaker moments when virtue seems to fail.
In the spirit of faith let us begin each day, and we shall be sure to “redeem the time” which it brings to us, by changing it into something definite and eternal. There is a deep meaning in this phrase of the apostle, to redeem time. We redeem time, and do not merely use it. We transform it into eternity by living it aright.
The time which passes over our heads so imperceptibly makes the same gradual change in habits, manners and character as in personal appearance. At the revolution of every five years we find ourselves another and yet the same—there is a change of views and no less of the light in which we regard them; a change of motives as well as of action.
If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time must be the greatest prodigality, since lost time is never found again; and what we call time enough always proves little enough. Let us then be up and doing, and doing to the purpose; so by diligence shall we do more with less perplexity.
How silent, how spacious, what room for all, yet without place to insert an atom—in graceful succession, in equal fullness, in balanced beauty, the dance of the hours goes forward still. Like an odor of incense, like a strain of music, like a sleep, it is inexact and boundless. It will not be dissected, nor unraveled, nor shown.
Time is the most subtle yet the most insatiable of depredators, and by appearing to take nothing is permitted to take all; nor can it be satisfied until it has stolen the world from us, and us from the world. It constantly flies, yet overcomes all things by flight; and although it is the present ally, it will be the future conqueror of death.
The hours of a wise man are lengthened by his ideas, as those of a fool are by his passions. The time of the one is long, because he does not know what to do with it; so is that of the other, because he distinguishes every moment of it with useful or amusing thoughts—or, in other words, because the one is always wishing it away, and the other always enjoying it.
He who cannot find time to consult his Bible will one day find he has time to be sick; he who has no time to pray must find time to die; he who can find no time to reflect is most likely to find time to sin; he who cannot find time for repentance will find an eternity in which repentance will be of no avail; he who cannot find time to work for others may find an eternity in which to suffer for himself.
There is nothing that we can properly call our own but our time, and yet everybody fools us out of it who has a mind to do it. If a man borrows a paltry sum of money, there must needs be bonds and securities, and every common civility is presently charged upon account. But he who has my time thinks he owes me nothing for it, though it be a debt that gratitude itself can never repay.
Tobacco, coffee, alcohol, hashish, prussic acid, strychnine, are weak dilutions; the surest poison is time. This cup which nature puts to our lips, has a wonderful virtue, surpassing that of any other draught. It opens the senses, adds power, fills us with exalted dreams, which we call hope, love, ambition, science; especially it creates a craving for larger draughts of itself.
Time is never more misspent than while we declaim against the want of it; all our actions are then tinctured with peevishness. The yoke of life is certainly the least oppressive when we carry it with good-humor; and in the shades of rural retirement, when we have once acquired a resolution to pass our hours with economy, sorrowful lamentations on the subject of time misspent and business neglected never torture the mind.
To-day, to-morrow, every day, to thousands the end of the world is close at hand. And why should we fear it? We walk here, as it were, in the crypts of life; at times, from the great cathedral above us, we can hear the organ and the chanting choir; we see the light stream through the open door, when some friend goes up before us; and shall we fear to mount the narrow staircase of the grave that leads us out of this uncertain twilight into life eternal?