I rode my horse to the saloon, but it was out of business. The cowboy I spoke with said the bartender served the saloon’s last drink on March 5th, 1882. Guess I shouldn’t have taken so long to shower and get ready. Ah, but that’s life, no?
Winning is great, sure, but if you are really going to do something in life, the secret is learning how to lose. Nobody goes undefeated all the time. If you can pick up after a crushing defeat, and go on to win again, you are going to be a champion someday.
Time does have a way of softening most things. Anger, hate, and even loss are often diluted by the passage of time. And memories, well they become more precious as days go by . . . until one day the cup that seemed half-empty, incredibly, becomes half-full.
Assembled in Gaza from Brazilian bioplastics, Turkish and Indonesian electronics, running Egyptian software and catching its time cues from an Israeli satellite, it commented on the world in ways its producers had failed to consider.“Come to salvation!
So few things we need to know.And the old wisdoms shudder in us and grow slack.Like renunciation. Like the melancholy beautyof giving it all up. Like walking steadfastin the rhythms, winter light and summer dark.And the time for cutting furrows and the dance
He thought again of the watch in the window. It had twelve black numbers on its moon face and there was magic to that. For these were numbers that were not really numbers at all but letters like in words. He shivered at the possibilities of such untold magic.
This is the time of myths. They are woven into the present like silk strands from the past, like a wire mesh from the future, creating an interlacing pattern, a grand design, a repeating motif. Don't dismiss myth, boy. And never, ever, dismiss the Bookman
She called and said she had to cancel tomorrow. “Cancel tomorrow!” I shrieked. “Does that make today the last day, or at midnight tonight will the world just skip over to the day after tomorrow? But wouldn’t that still make it tomorrow?
Time plays tricks on mothers. It teases you with breaks and brief caesuras, only to skip wildly forward, bringing breathtaking changes to your baby's body. Only he wasn't a baby anymore, and how often did I have to learn that? The lessons were painful.
[When] he's here, he's always reading. He says books stop time. I myself think he's crazy...Don't tell anyone, but when he reads something that he likes he gets real happy, turns on the music, and dances by himself, or with a broom sometimes.
The past and the future are tools of the ego that render us finite. Without our judgments about the past (memories) and without our judgments about the future (expectations), there is only the Here and Now, the eternal present, the timeless time of the Oneness.
I watched the leaves change colors, and I thought, “People do that too. Their hair changes color as they age.” I remember that as my grandpa got older, his hair went from green to yellow to red, like a traffic light, only with slightly less honking.
The dusty tombs of long-dead exorcist priests lay in the alcoves below, surmounted by stone effigies, the features eroded by the passing of time and the reverent caresses of their grateful parishioners, a reminder, she knew all too well, of the brevity of life.
te midden vankleurenverwrongen doch schijnbaarleeftijdloosbevind ik mijschouder aan schoudermet de tijdhaar schaterlachweerkaatst tegen de murenvan het eindelozeverstart de wijzersvoor een ogenblikongemerktverbleektwat eens waszo blijktkleurechtheideen illusie.
