T. S. Eliot Quotes

Things were here before you and will be here after you're gone. The geographic features, especially, give you a sense of your own place in the world and in time.

What you lose in blindness is the space around you, the place where you are, and without that you might not exist. You could be nowhere at all.

Action can only be understood in relation to place; only by staying in place can the imagination conceive or understand action in terms of consequence, of cause and effect. The meaning of action in time is inseparable from its meaning in place.

I know simply that the sky will last longer than I.

The concept of time shuts off eternity.

A year's a long time, but it also flickers past in no time at all.

I have a very acute sense of place and time, so all of my stories are rooted in a place and a time.

For some strange reason, no matter where I go, the place is always called "here".

To be in time is to be asleep: to be awake is to be in eternity.

It is 'where we are' that should make all the difference, whether we believe we belong there or not.

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.

Don't keep saying, "I don't know where the time goes." It goes the same place it's always gone and no one has ever known where that is.

Today's today. Tomorrow we may be ourselves gone down the drain of Eternity.

When we talk about our lives, long or short, brief and tragic or enduring beyond comprehension, we impose a continuity on them, and that continuity is a lie.

Where you're from only matters in relation to where you are.

How much does a man live, after all?/ Does he live a thousand days, or one only? For a week, or for several centuries?/ How long does a man spend dying?/ What does it mean to say 'for ever'?

Reflect often upon the rapidity with which all existing things, or things coming into existence, sweep past us and are carried away.

Aside from Velcro, time is the most mysterious substance in the universe.

A day is a miniature eternity.

We think very little of time present; we anticipate the future, as being too slow, and with a view to hasten it onward, we recall the past to stay it as too swiftly gone. We are so thoughtless, that we thus wander through the hours which are not here, regardless only of the moment that is actually our own.

Think about how rare it is that you exist at all. Also think about time this way: If something exists, even for a second, then forever in the future that thing “existed”, and forever in the past that thing “was going to exist”. So to even be conscious for a millisecond is a kind of immortality, but you have more than a millisecond. You have minutes. Hours. Months. A year? Years! This is a gift.

Time, that most abstract of humanity's homes.

Time is the measurer of all things, but is itself immeasurable, and the grand discloser of all things, but is itself undisclosed.

What an unreliable thing is time--when I want it to fly, the hours stick to me like glue. And what a changeable thing, too. Time is the twine to tie our lives into parcels of years and months. Or a rubber band stretched to suit our fancy. Time can be the pretty ribbon in a little girl's hair. Or the lines in your face, stealing your youthful colour and your hair. .... But in the end, time is a noose around the neck, strangling slowly.