Time

Shakespeare Sonnet-a-Day



XIX.

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.

The long winter evenings were devoted to reading seed catalogs and planning her garden. Julia was always eager for spring to arrive.

I do not have enough time left in my life to spend it
with training for the world record in marathon running.


(hi, old pirate)

Time left me one day, and when it did it told me not to be frightened that it would be back if I asked. You see it wasn't feeling appreciated by me, it said it was tired of being there when all people wanted was more, more, more. At first I felt empowered to change my surroundings, without time I could fix all my problems. Then crying to myself, no time later at all, I realized I couldn't measure myself against infinity. I begged time to return, that I was happy with it when it was here. I said I would never complain about not there being enough and like warm rain, time came back to engulf me, and rescue me from oblivion. I told time that I was glad he was back, and that as much as he was here is all of him I'd need.

THE TIME you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.

So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl’s.

A.E.Housman – To an Athlete Dying Young

The dark-haired stranger knew how to bide his time.

Time will explain it all. He is a talker, and needs no questioning before he speaks.

(Euripides)

Time itself seemed to have grown dull and old, as if no day were ever to displace the melancholy night.

It's time for the human race to enter the solar system.

(Dan Quayle)

Time crumbles things; everything grows old under the power of Time and is forgotten through the lapse of Time.

(Aristotle)

The maintainers of this site claim that it's impossible to have a conversation if there is no way of knowing when a given entry was posted. Is that true? Is it necessary to arrange the various parts of a potential conversation in sequential order for a conversation to exist?

time was when the water was blue and the grass was green. birds sang and fish didn't fly. now you just never know what lurks behind that shrub. if diversity wasn't so common, it would be disconcerting.

The time here is just past eight o'clock.

»How the black smoke swirls back against the sky! Is it not beautiful?«
»I dislike smoke of any kind.«
»My great-grandmother smoked a pipe – a clay pipe.«
»Vulgar!«
»She was too distant a relativ to be vulgar. Time mellows pipes.«