Top 1200 Time Passes Quotes & Sayings

History can just be so unkind as time passes.

Time passes irrevocably.

Suffering passes; having suffered never passes.

Time passes for every player.

The fact that I've lived this long is not really an achievement. Time passes; we age... it's natural. This is why it annoys me when a person watches a movie and tells me that it was 'time pass.' Would time not have passed if he hadn't watched the film?

Intimacy is not trapped within words. It passes through words. It passes. The truth is that intimates leave the room. Doors close. Faces move away from the window. Time passes. Voices recede into the dark. Death finally quiets the voice. And there is no way to deny it. No way to stand in the crowd, uttering one's family language.

All life passes like a fast flowing river and how strange to see that happiness increases this speed! Yes, a happy life passes faster!

What passes out of one's mouth passes into a hundred ears. It is a great misfortune not to have sense enough to speak well.

You never know how you view things as time passes.

There is so little time for us all, I need to be able to say what I want quickly and to as many people as possible. Time passes so slowly if you are unaware of it and so quickly if you are aware of it.

we who determine how quickly time passes.

Love passes quickly, and passes like a street Arab, anxious to mark his way with mischief.

As time passes, we like to simplify our lives.

We notice a bee struggling inside a flower, or the smile of a woman as she passes us on the street, and for that tiny fraction of a second we understand what it means to be alive in the world, and then the moment passes, and we start worrying about our bills again.

Like fragile ice anger passes away in time.

Time passes, Time the consoler, Time the anodyne.

I have what passes for an education in this day and time, but I am not deceived by it.

Most people think happiness comes from experiences in the world. The fulfillment of desire causes a type of happiness. But as soon as they experience passes, the happiness passes.

The scientific tradition is distinguished from the pre-scientific tradition by having two layers. Like the latter, it passes on its theories; but it also passes on a critical attitude towards them.

Because time isn't something that always proceeds at the same pace. It is we who determine how quickly time passes.

The years go by. The time, it does fly. Every single second is a moment in time that passes. And it seems like nothing - but when you're looking back ... well, it amounts to everything.

It's funny, when you're a child you think time will never go by, but when you hit about twenty, time passes like you're on the fast train to Memphis. I guess life just slips up on everybody. It sure did on me.

Suffering passes, but the fact of having suffered never passes.

Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.

Men don't make passes at crones with big (rhymes with passes).

We live in a time when people are afraid of beauty, because beauty passes; you can't hang on to it. And even if you see something or someone beautiful, the next time you hear it, it sounds different. So you can't cling to beauty; beauty passes and when that passes, you realize you pass too, and you will die. And that's why people cry at a beautiful view, a beautiful lecture, a beautiful painting, a new baby.

Time sometimes passes quite quickly.

Time passes, as the novelist says. The single most useful trick of fiction for our repair and refreshment: the defeat of time. A century of family saga and a ride up an escalator can take the same number of pages. Fiction sets any conversion rate, then changes it in a syllable. The narrator’s mother carries her child up the stairs and the reader follows, for days. But World War I passes in a paragraph. I needed 125 pages to get from Labor Day to Christmas vacation. In six more words, here’s spring.

My ideas about time all developed from the realization that if nothing were to change we could not say that time passes. Change is primary, time, if it exists at all, is something we deduce from it.

Time passes. That's the rule. No matter what happens, no matter how much it might feel like everything in your life has been frozen around one particular moment, time marches on.

There must still be room for the falling note, of course. Even in an undying world there are times when beauty passes from sight, or love passes from the heart, and we feel the sorrow of partition.

One passes through the world knowing few, if any, of the important things about even the people with whom one has been from time to time in the closest intimacy.

Time is not a thing that passes ... it's a sea on which you float.

One of the most powerful devices of poetry is the use of distortions. You can go from talking about the way a minute passes to the way a century passes, or a lifetime.

Painters... are the most lively observers of what passes in the world about them, and the closest observers of what passes in their own minds.

Time passes by like lightning. Before you know it you're struck down.

As time passes, my story fades away.

Time moves slowly, but passes quickly.

In cartoons, in movies, time passes differently. There are flashbacks and flashfowards.

However we pass Time, he passes still, Passing away whatever the pastime, And, whether we use him well or ill, Some day he gives us the slip for the last time.

Time passes too quickly when you're getting ready to do something you don't want to do.

Among so many things, 'Time Passes' has shown me subversive ways of portraying time, of looking away from the human to the far more terrifying, far more immense texture of time beneath the minute span of a human life.

The moon has set, and the Pleiades; it is midnight, and time passes, and I sleep alone.

Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence. Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence. Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance.

It's life isn't it? You plow ahead and make a hit. And you plow on and someone passes you. Then someone passes them. Time levels.

We say that time passes, time goes by, and time flows. Those are metaphors. We also think of time as a medium in which we exist.

Peace is when time doesn't matter as it passes by.

Time passes so slowly if you are unaware of it and so quickly if you are aware of it.

I think I've got a peculiar disease. I call it the curse of history, and it has to do with the fugitive absence/presence of both personal and collective memory. At first I thought it was a kind of personal illness, just related to time, private time, time that passes in one's life. So I decided to forget and throw myself into the future.

Life passes into pages if it passes into anything.

The flower inside the fruit that is both its parent and its child. Decadent as ancestors. The portal and that which passes. Nuclear devices activated, and the machine keeps pushing time through the cogs, like paste into strings into paste again, and only the machine keeps using time to make time to make time. And when the machine stops, time was an illusion that we created free will.

Experiences is just paying attention as time passes.

The happier time, the quicker it passes

Most of us take for granted that time flies, meaning that it passes too quickly. But in the mindful state, time doesn't really pass at all. There is only a single instant of time that keeps renewing itself over and over with infinite variety.

The smoke from the fire passes through the building and the soot affixes itself to the walls. The smoke passes through the air and keeps going - liberation.

When time passes, it's the people who knew you whom you want to see; they're the ones you can talk to. When enough time passes, what's it matter what they did to you?

Time passes you say, But no! Alas, time is staying and we pass by.

The pain others give passes away in their later kindness, but that of our own blunders, especially when they hurt our vanity, never passes away

Time passes. That's for sure.

Time spent in the cultivation of the fields passes very pleasantly.