The weeks go by so slow I almost think time passin backwards.

Time is love, above all else. It is the most precious commodity in the world and should be lavished on those we care most about.

The laws of science do not distinguish between the past and the future.

Most of the methods for measuring the lapse of time have, I believe, been the contrivance of monks and religious recluses, who, finding time hang heavy on their hands, were at some pains to see how they got rid of it.

Time is the rider that breaks youth.

City people try to buy time as a rule, when they can, whereas country people are prepared to kill time, although both try to cherish in their minds eye the notion of a better life ahead.

We know all along that time is squeezing us into a corner while we mentally rocket to each new star that flares across our sky, and yet we can't help ourselves.

Those who make the worst use of their time are the first to complain of its brevity.

Time is an abstraction which, on earth, exists only for the human brain it has evolved.

For tribal man space was the uncontrollable mystery. For technological man it is time that occupies the same role.