Time

The maintainers of this site claim that it's impossible to have a conversation if there is no way of knowing when a given entry was posted. Is that true? Is it necessary to arrange the various parts of a potential conversation in sequential order for a conversation to exist?

Do not squander time for that is the stuff life is made of.

(Benjamin Franklin)

how many of we contributers are the same, but under a different name?

how many people bother to come back?

Is this a regular haunt of yours?

Are questions worth keeping?

Where are the answers?

Answers, yoohoo, answers, answers, where are you answers

You may delay, but time will not.

(Benjamin Franklin)

An inch of time cannot be bought with an inch of gold.

(Chinese Proverb)

The long winter evenings were devoted to reading seed catalogs and planning her garden. Julia was always eager for spring to arrive.

Time left me one day, and when it did it told me not to be frightened that it would be back if I asked. You see it wasn't feeling appreciated by me, it said it was tired of being there when all people wanted was more, more, more. At first I felt empowered to change my surroundings, without time I could fix all my problems. Then crying to myself, no time later at all, I realized I couldn't measure myself against infinity. I begged time to return, that I was happy with it when it was here. I said I would never complain about not there being enough and like warm rain, time came back to engulf me, and rescue me from oblivion. I told time that I was glad he was back, and that as much as he was here is all of him I'd need.

Time is the most valuable thing a man can spend.

(Theophrastus)

THE TIME you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.

So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl’s.

A.E.Housman – To an Athlete Dying Young

I do not have enough time left in my life to spend it
with training for the world record in marathon running.


(hi, old pirate)

Time is many things, a predator that hunts us, a companion, a measuring stick, a riddle, a cure for the heart, a bringer of joy or sorrow. It is not infinite, however.

»How the black smoke swirls back against the sky! Is it not beautiful?«
»I dislike smoke of any kind.«
»My great-grandmother smoked a pipe – a clay pipe.«
»Vulgar!«
»She was too distant a relativ to be vulgar. Time mellows pipes.«

Time is an illusion. Take one instant. Freeze it. How does it connect to the next? What is the smallest increment of time? Death is simply stopping at one instant and not proceeding to the next. You stay forever at the instant between life and death.

There was ample time to note these particulars, for besides that they were sufficiently obvious without very close observation, some moments elapsed before any one broke silence