Erin Morgenstern Quotes

For every minute, the future is becoming the past.

People have reflected on the quality of time ever since they've been writing. I suppose I have thought about and written about the question of living in the present - but it only lasts for an instant, and then everything becomes the past. The future, you know nothing about, except for some anticipations you have.

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

Never has the future become so rapidly the past.

The days, the nights, flow one by one above us. The hours go silently over our lifted faces. We are like dreamers who walk beneath a sea. Beneath high walls we flow in the sun together. We sleep, we wake, we laugh, we pursue, we flee.

How those fires burned that are no longer, how the weather worsened, how the shadow of the seagull vanished without a trace. Was it the end of a season, the end of a life? Was it so long ago it seems it might never have been? What is it in us that lives in the past and longs for the future, or lives in the future and longs for the past? (from "No Words Can Describe It")

Can't bring back time. Like holding water in your hand.

The hours pass and the days and the months and the years, and the past time never returns.

How did it get so late so soon?

Days, months, years fly away, and irrecoverably sink in the abyss of time.

Time meanwhile is flying, flying beyond recall.

It's all we ever wantedAnd all we'll ever needAnd now it's slipping through our fingersFaster than the speed of night.

Time flies, and what is past is done.

This is the past: It drifts, it gathers. If you are not careful, it will bury you.

The hours trip rapidly away, hiding their dreams in their skirts.

The days come and go but they say nothing, and if we do not use the gifts they bring, they carry them as silently away.

Night falls fast. Today is the past.

The present is the necessary product of all the past, the necessary cause of all the future.

Life is short. Time is short. As we get older, time does quicken. It's long, and it's long pertaining to that thought, that the past is not done with you because you can't rid of it.

The sands of time are quicksands ... so much can sink into them without a trace.

Who thinks, at night, that morn will ever be? Who knows, far out upon the central sea, That anywhere is land? And yet, a shore Has set behind us, and will rise before: A past foretells a future.