Thor Heyerdahl Quotes

The now, the here, through which all future plunges into the past.

Time is the water in which we live, and we breathe it like fish. ... Time pours into us and then pours out again. In between the two pourings we live our destiny.

How did it get so late so soon? Its night before its afternoon. December is here before its June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?

The clock never stops, never stops, never waits. We're growing old. It's getting late.

The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.

Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, so do our minutes, hasten to their end.

Time slips through our hands like grains of sand, never to return again.

Time glides with undiscover'd haste; The future but a length behind the past.

Time comes to us softly, slowly. It sits beside us for a while. Then, long before we are ready, it moves on.

Time flies whether you are having fun or not.

In the sense that writing is to retrieve the past and stop the passing of time, all writing is about loss. It's not nostalgia in the sense of yearning to bring back the past, but recognition of the erosion of things as you live.

We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.

Time goes, you say? Ah, no! alas, time stays, we go.

As I get older, the present and the past shift and become the past and the future... A lot of it is a new awareness of time and life and the wheel of fortune crushing you and lifting you and crushing you and lifting you.

Time doesn't go. Time stays. We go.

Time flies never to be recalled.

Swift speedy time, feathered with flying hours, Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.

Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.

Our birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time.

Time is a great conference planning our end, and youth is only the past putting a leg forward.

People don't slip. Time catches up with them.

Never has the future become so rapidly the past.

Oh, the years fly by, that's just natural.

Everyone succumbs to finitude. I suspect I am not the only one who reaches this pluperfect state. Most ambitions are either achieved or abandoned; either way, they belong to the past. The future, instead of the ladder toward the goals of life, flattens out into a perpetual present.