Time and Its Passage

O lente lente currite noctis equi .

Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunderstorm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

Nothing puzzles me more than time and space; and yet nothing troubles me less, as I never think about them.

Lo, all our pomp of yesterday

Suns, that set, may rise again;

Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume, Labuntur anni

Dum loquimur, fugerit invida

Very like leaves

She may very well pass for forty-three

Footfalls echo in the memory

Time present and time past

The distinction between past, present and future is only an illusion, however persistent.

I never think of the future. It comes soon enough.

Busy old fool, unruly sun,

Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,

All other things, to their destruction draw,

Since then—’tis Centuries—and yet

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita.

That lyf so short,

Silence is deep as Eternity; speech is shallow as Time.

My days are in the yellow leaf;

Time, the avenger! unto thee I lift

Nae man can tether time or tide.