Time and Its Passage

Oh, the little more, and how much it is!

Ah, Sun-flower! weary of time,

VLADIMIR : That passed the time.

Days and months are travellers of eternity.

Every instant of time is a pinprick of eternity.

The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.

I’ll love you, dear, I’ll love you

Your tomorrow depends entirely on what you do today.

There is more to life than simply increasing its speed.

There are two days in the year when we cannot do anything: yesterday and tomorrow.

And here I sit so patiently Waiting to find out what price You have to pay to get out of Going through all these things twice.

Time has passed like a courier with urgent news. But that’s just our simile. The character’s invented, his haste is make-believe, his news inhuman.

Where can we live but days?

Exhaust the little moment. Soon it dies. And be it gash or gold it will not come Again in this identical disguise.

Time held me green and dying Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

We are condemned to kill time: Thus we die bit by bit

Time is the school in which we learn, Time is the fire in which we burn.

Life and the memory of it cramped, dim, on a piece of Bristol board.

Nobody, nothing than time which if intense

Take your delight in momentariness, Walk between dark and dark—a shining space With the grave’s narrowness, though not its peace.

You are eternity’s hostage A captive of time.

Time the destroyer is time the preserver.

Love is most nearly itself When here and now cease to matter. Old men ought to be explorers Here and there does not matter We must be still and still moving Into another intensity For a further union, a deeper communion Through the dark cold and the empty desolation, The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.

Home is where one starts from. As we grow older The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated Of dead and living. Not the intense moment Isolated, with no before and after, But a lifetime burning in every moment And not the lifetime of one man only But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.