Flow of Time Quotes

What then is time? If no one asks me, I know what it is. If I wish to explain it to him who asks, I do not know.

Time is a river, and books are boats.

We don't have to look for what the next thing will be. If experience is any judge, it'll come flowing toward us like a river.

History is a river that never ends. Today is history, and I am here at the fountainhead.

Time is still the great mystery to us. It is no more than a concept; we don't know if it even exists.

Touch us gently, Time! Let us glide adown thy stream, Gently, - as we sometimes glide Through a quiet dream!

We can none of us step into the same river twice, but the river flows on and the other river we step into is cool and refreshing, too

You cannot step twice into the same river.

There are things that I would say that you could call an instant of time; or better, a now. As we live we seem to move through a succession of instants of time, nows, and the question is, what are they? There are where everything in the universe is at this moment, now.

The river flowed from century to century, and human affairs play themselves out on its banks. Play themselves out to be forgotten the next day, while the river flows on.

Time, as a river, hath brought down to us what is more light and superficial, while things more solid and substantial have been immersed.

Time is a river without banks.

The spiritual man habitually makes eternity-judgments instead of time-judgments. By faith he rises above the tug of earth and the flow of time and learns to think and feel as one who has already left the world and gone to join the innumerable company of angels and the general assembly and Church of the First-born which are written in heaven. Such a man would rather be useful than famous and would rather serve than be served. And all this must be by the operation of the Holy Spirit within him. No man can become spiritual by himself. Only the free Spirit can make a man spiritual.

Time is the River on which the leaves of our thoughts are carried into oblivion.

An artist attunes to what things are, which means sort of listening to the future, which is just how things are - I think time is a sort of liquid that pours out of hatpins, underground trains, salt crystals. So a work of art is also listening to itself, because what it is never quite coincides with how it appears, too.

In rivers, the water that you touch is the last of what has passed and the first of that which comes; so with present time.

Our linear concept of time means nothing to nature.

The vanity of human life is like a river, constantly passing away, and yet constantly coming on.

Time is like a river flowing endlessly through the universe. And if you poled your flatboat in that river you might fight your way against the current and travel upstream into the past. Or go with the flow and rush into the future. This was in a less cynical time before toxic waste dumping and pollution filled the waterway of Chronus with the detritus of empty hours wasted minutes years of repetition and time that has been killed.

How Sunday into Monday melts!

Some say that time is like water that flows around us (like a stone in the river) and some say we flow with time (like a twig floating on the surface of the water).

So our lives glide on: the river ends we don't know where, and the sea begins, and then there is no more jumping ashore.

We see which way the stream of time doth run.

The water of the fountain ran, the swift river ran, the day ran into evening, so much life in the city ran into death according to rule, time and tide waited for no man, the rats were sleeping close together in their dark holes again, the Fancy Ball was lighted up at supper, all things ran their course.