But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.

We crucify ourselves between two thieves: regret for yesterday and fear of tomorrow.

The mystery lies in the here and now. The mystery is: What is one to do with oneself? As you get older you begin to realize the trick time is playing, and that unless you do something about it, the passage of time is nothing but the encroachment of the horrible banality of the past on the pure future. The past devours the future like a tape recorder, converting pure possibility into banality. The present is the tape head, the mouth of time. Then where is the mystery and why bother kicking through the ashes? Because there is a clue in the past.

Good things take time.

One should count each day a separate life.

There is a law of time, a law of oblivion: glory to the dead; life to the living.

Gentle time will heal our sorrows.

Time eases all things.

We must use time creatively, and forever realize that the time is always ripe to do right.

Time in his aging overtakes all things alike.