Quotes
Quotes about Time
Time has laid his hand
Upon my heart gently, not smiting it,
But as a harper lays his open palm
Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.
All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time.
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 passion with from day to day, that man begins to see that the leaves which remain are few in number.
There is no greater sorrow
Than to be mindful of the happy time
In misery.
Give lettered pomp to teeth of Time,
So "Bonnie Doon" but tarry;
Blot out the epic's stately rhyme,
But spare his "Highland Mary!"
Again the shadow moveth o'er
The dial-plate of time.
Yet sometimes glimpses on my sight,
Through present wrong the eternal right;
And, step by step, since time began,
I see the steady gain of man;
Too innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle scorning--
Oh friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning.
Every poet hopes that after-times
Shall set some value on his votive lay.
This--all this--was in the olden
Time long ago.
Keeping time, time, time
In a sort of Runic rhyme
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells.
There Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb
The crowns o' the world; oh, eyes sublime
With tears and laughter for all time!
You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can not fool all of the people all of the time.
The expression often used by Mr. Herbert Spencer of the Survival of the Fittest is more accurate, and is sometimes equally convenient.
Whether we wake or we sleep,
Whether we carol or weep,
The Sun with his Planets in chime,
Marketh the going of Time.
Oh glory, that we wrestle
So valiantly with Time!
You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;
To-morrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad New Year,--
Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day;
For I 'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I 'm to be queen o' the May.
I, the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.
We are ancients of the earth,
And in the morning of the times.
Jewels five-words-long,
That on the stretched forefinger of all Time
Sparkle forever.
Strength of heart
And might of limb, but mainly use and skill,
Are winners in this pastime.
Death's truer name
Is "Onward," no discordance in the roll
And march of that Eternal Harmony
Whereto the world beats time.
What shall I do with all the days and hours
That must be counted ere I see thy face?
How shall I charm the interval that lowers
Between this time and that sweet time of grace?
You think they are crusaders sent
From some infernal clime,
To pluck the eyes of sentiment
And dock the tail of Rhyme,
To crack the voice of Melody
And break the legs of Time.
A thought is often original, though you have uttered it a hundred times.
