William Faulkner Quotes

It strikes! one, two, Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch, Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and rest; Would thou could'st make the time to do so too; I'll wind thee up no more.

The bell that measures time is ringing

The house clock, place certain there at the bottom of things, strikes the half hour dry and null. All is so much, all is so deep, all is so dark and cold!

Tick tock, this is a clock.

It had a very long pendulum, and the pendulum swung with a slow tick-tock that set his teeth on edge, because it was the the kind of delibrate, annoying ticking that wanted to make it abundantly clear that every tick and every tock was stripping another second off your life.

It's this thing that's going on all the time - aging. Paul Auster quotes the poet George Opren on growing old: "What a strange thing to happen to a little boy." Which I think is so profound.

Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn.

I took out my watch and listened to it clicking away, not knowing it couldn't even lie

Time bears away all things.

The longer I live, the less future there is to worry about.

Everybody ages. Everybody dies. There is no turning back the clock. So the question in life becomes: What are you going to do while you're here

Some grow young, some grow cold...

The cancer of time is eating us away

What cities, as great as this, have... promised themselves immortality! Posterity can hardly trace the situation of some. The sorrowful traveller wanders over the awful ruins of others... Here stood their citadel, but now grown over with weeds; there their senate-house, but now the haunt of every noxious reptile; temples and theatres stood here, now only an undistinguished heap of ruins.

An age that melts in unperceiv'd decay, And glides in modest innocence away.

An idler is a watch that wants both hands; As useless if it goes as when it stands.

For me, the problem of time is linked up with that of death, with the thought that we inevitably draw closer and closer to it, with the horror of decay.

A Clock is not time; it's numbers and springs. Pay it no mind.

Turning 50 gives me more yesterdays than tomorrows.

I sit beside the fire and think of people long ago, and of people who will see a world that I shall never know.

The soul of an individual; your soul and my soul, is that part of us that is immortal. Your personality is that part of you that was born into time, that matures in time, or at least grows older in time and then decays and passes away.