Virgil Quotes

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?

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

Time meanwhile is flying, flying beyond recall.

But meanwhile time flies; it flies never to be regained.

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

Alas! the fleeting years, how they roll on!

Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart; The end lost in dream, They float past our view, We only watch their glad, early start. Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose; Their widening scope, Their distant employ, We never shall know. And the stream as it flows Sweeps them away, Each one is gone Ever beyond into infinite ways. We alone stay While years hurry on, The flower fared forth, though its fragrance still stays.

But when to-morrow comes, yesterday's morrow will have been already spent: and lo! a fresh morrow will be for ever making away with our years, each just beyond our grasp.

The last moments slipped by, one by one, irretrievable.

Time wastes too fast : every letter I trace tells me with what rapidity Life follows my pen ; the days and hours of it, more precious, my dear Jenny! than the rubies about thy neck, are flying over our heads like light clouds of a windy day, never to return more -- every thing presses on -- whilst thou are twisting that lock, -- see! it grows grey ; and every time I kiss thy hand to bid adieu, and every absence which follows it, are preludes to that eternal separation which we are shortly to make!

Time takes it all, whether you want it to or not. Time takes it all, time bears it away, and in the end there is only darkness. Sometimes we find others in that darkness, and sometimes we lose them there again.

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

Time flies whether you are having fun or not.

Time flies, and what is past is done.

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

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

For every minute, the future is becoming the past.

Time, you old gypsy man, will you not stay, put up your caravan just for one day?

Eternity ceased gradually to serve as the measure and focus of human actions.

It's pretty scary to know how quickly time flies.

Time flies and draws us with it. The moment in which I am speaking is already far from me.

The brief span of our poor unhappy life to its final hour Is hastening on; and while we drink and call for gay wreaths, Perfumes, and young girls, old age creeps upon us, unperceived.

Things pass us by. Nobody can catch them. That's the way we live our lives.

Like a wind crying endlessly through the universe, Time carries away the names and the deeds of conquerors and commoners alike. And all that we were, all that remains, is in the memories of those who cared we came this way for a brief moment.