Miranda July Quotes

We advance in years somewhat in the manner of an invading army in a barren land; the age that we have reached, as the saying goes, we but hold with an outpost, and still keep open communications with the extreme rear and first beginnings of the march.

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

The older we get, the swifter time seems to pass and the quicker memories seem to fade.

For every minute, the future is becoming the past.

Age carries all things away, even the mind.

When you are forty, half of you belongs to the past... And when you are seventy, nearly all of you.

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

Age is inevitable. Aging isn't.

Time is a kind of river, an irresistible flood sweeping up men and events and carrying them headlong, one after the other, to the great sea of being.

Years have passed and how I am anxiously watching the twilight of my childhood, quietly sinking, never to rise again.

The swiftness of time is infinite, as is still more evident when we look back on the past.

Youth is an arithmetical statement of passing interest, each hour eats it up.

Why is youth so short and age so long?

Arrow-swift the present sweepeth, and motionless forever stands the past.

The avalanche of time sweeps everything before it. Every individual instant hurtles into oblivion, drowning out the obliteration of the instant immediately preceding it, and then it too disappears under the onslaught of the next and the next and the next. When the avalanche has shuddered past for a long enough time, the perception of the past evolves. Distant events grow beyond mere history and take on the weight of legend.

Time marches on and sooner or later you realize it is marching across your face.

Isn't there a curious elegance in how one moment passes into another?

An empty frame, in which the picture is always changing, makes a statement about how time is always passing. It doesn't really stop, even in a single image. I t just feels that way.

We see which way the stream of time doth run.

We're captive on the carousel of time, we can't return we can only look behind.

The hour-hand of life.

Time does us violence; it is the only violence.

Time in his aging overtakes all things alike.

Men wrongly lament the flight of time, blaming it for being too swift; they do not perceive that its passage is sufficiently long, but a good memory, which nature has given to us, causes things long past to seem present.