The hours of a wise man are lengthened by his ideas, as those of a fool are by his passions. The time of the one is long, because he does not know what to do with it; so is that of the other, because he distinguishes every moment of it with useful or amusing thoughts; or, in other words, because the one is always wishing it away, and the other always enjoying it.
Nothing lies on our hands with such uneasiness as time. Wretched and thoughtless creatures! In the only place where covetousness were a virtue we turn prodigals.
Time is so fleeting that if we do not remember God in our youth, age may find us incapable of thinking about him.
Time is the measure of business as money is of wares; and business is bought at a dear hand where there is small despatch. The Spartans and Spaniards have been noted to be of small despatch, and hence the maxim, "Let my death come from Spain"; for then it will be long in coming.
A man that is young in years may be old in hours, if he has lost no time.
To choose time is to save time.
Spend your time in nothing which you know must be repented of; in nothing on which you might not pray for the blessing of God; in nothing which you could not review with a quiet conscience on your dying bed; in nothing which you might not safely and properly be found doing if death should surprise you in the act.
We sleep, but the loom of life never stops, and the pattern which was weaving when the sun went down is weaving when it comes up in the morning.
Wherever anything lives, there is, open somewhere, a register in which time is being inscribed.
Time hurries on with a resistless, unremitting stream, yet treads more soft than e'er did midnight thief that slides his hand under the miser's pillow, and carries off his prize.
Regret for time wasted can become a power for good in the time that remains. And the time that remains is time enough, if we will only stop the waste and the idle, useless regretting.
New time always! Old time we cannot keep. Time does not become sacred to us until we have lived it, until it has passed over us and taken with it a part of ourselves.
Time! the corrector where our judgments err; the test of truth, and love; the sole philosopher, for all beside are sophists.
Know the true value of time; snatch, seize, and enjoy every moment of it.—No idleness; no laziness; no procrastination;—never put off till tomorrow what you can do today.
The laboring man and the artificer knows what every hour of his time is worth, and parts not with it but for the full value: they are only noblemen and gentlemen, who should know best how to use it, that think it only fit to be cast away; and their not knowing how to set a true value upon this, is the true cause of the wrong estimate they make of all other things.
Much may be done in those little shreds and patches of time, which every day produces, and which most men throw away, but which nevertheless will make at the end of it no small deduction from the life of man.
Time, the cradle of hope, but the grave of ambition, is the stern corrector of fools, but the salutary counsellor of the wise, bringing all they dread to the one, and all they desire to the other; it warns us with a voice that even the sagest discredit too long, and the silliest believe too late. Wisdom walks before it, opportunity with it, and repentance behind it; he that has made it his friend will have little to fear from his enemies, but he that has made it his enemy will have little to hope from his friends.
Time is the most undefinable yet paradoxical of things; the past is gone, the future has not come, and the present becomes the past even while we attempt to define it, and, like the flash of the lightning, at once exists and expires.
There is no saying shocks me so much as that which I hear very often, "that a man does not know how to pass his time." It would have been but ill-spoken by Methusaleh in the nine hun-dred and sixty-ninth year of his life.
All my possessions for a moment of time.
Time will discover everything to posterity; it is a babbler, and speaks even when no question is put.
God, who is liberal in all his other gifts, shows us, by the wise economy of his providence, how circumspect we ought to be in the management of our time, for he never gives us two moments together.
Keep forever in view the momentous value of life; aim at its worthiest use—its sublimest end; spurn, with disdain, those foolish trifles and frivolous vanities, which so often consume life, as the locusts did Egypt; and devote yourself, with the ardor of a passion, to attain the most divine improvements of the human soul. In short, hold yourself in preparation to make the transition to another life, whenever you shall be claimed by the Lord of the world.
Time is the greatest of all tyrants. As we go on toward age, he taxes our health, limbs, faculties, strength, and features.
Remember that time is money. He that can earn ten shillings a day by his labor, and goes abroad or sits idle one half of that day, though he spends but sixpence during his diversion or idleness, ought not to reckon that the only expense; he has really spent, or rather thrown away, five shillings besides.
Dost thou love life? then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of.
If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time must be the greatest prodigality, since lost time is never found again; and what we call time enough always proves little enough. Let us then up and be doing, and doing to the purpose; so by diligence shall we do more with less perplexity.
He lives long that lives well, and time misspent is not lived, but lost.
It is better to be doing the most insignificant thing than to reckon even a half-hour insignificant.
We always have time enough, if we will but use it aright.
There is not a single moment in life that we can afford to lose.
Those that dare lose a day, ate dangerously prodigal; those that dare misspend it, are desperate.
Observe a method in the distribution of your time. Every hour will then know its proper employment, and no time will be lost. Idleness will be shut out at every avenue, and with her, that numerous body of vices, that make up her train.
Time will bring to light whatever is hidden; it will conceal and cover up what is now shining with the greatest splendor.
What a folly to dread the thought of throwing away life at once, and yet have no regard to throwing it away by parcels and piecemeal.
You'll find as you grow older that you weren't born, such a very great while ago after all. The time shortens up.
The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favor to men of skill, but time and chance happeneth to them all.
A man's time, when well husbanded, is like a cultivated field, of which a few acres produces more of what is useful to life, than extensive provinces, even of the richest soil, when overrun with weeds and brambles.
Time, whose tooth gnaws away everything else, is powerless against truth.
An Italian philosopher said that "time was his estate"; an estate indeed which will produce nothing without cultivation, but will always abundantly repay the labors of industry, and generally satisfy the most extensive desires, if no part of it be suffered to lie waste by negligence, to be overrun with noxious plants, or laid out for show rather than for use.
Time, with all its celerity, moves slowly on to him whose whole employment is to watch its flight.
The great rule of moral conduct is, next to God, to respect time.
Time's horses gallop down the lessening hill.
Be avaricious of time; do not give any moment without receiving it in value; only allow the hours to go from you with as much regret as you give to your gold; do not allow a single day to pass without increasing the treasure of your knowledge and virtue.
The same object seen from the three different points of view—the past, the present, and the future—often exhibits three different faces to us; like those sign-boards over shop doors, which represent the face of a lion as we approach, of a man when we are in front, and of an ass when we have passed.
What is time?—The shadow on the dial, the striking of the clock, the running of the sand, day and night, summer and winter, months, years, centuries—these are but the arbitrary and outward signs—the measure of time, not time itself. Time is the life of the soul.
As every thread of gold is valuable, so is every moment of time.
The lifeless boughs of time.
Hours have wings and fly up to the author of time and carry news of our usage. All our prayers cannot entreat one of them either to return or slacken its pace. The misspents of every minute are a new record against us in heaven. Sure if we thought thus we would dismiss them with better reports, and not suffer them to fly away empty, or laden with dangerous intelligence. How happy is it when they carry up not only the message but the fruits of good, and stay with the Ancient of Days to speak for us before his glorious throne.
There are no fragments so precious as those of time, and none are so heedlessly lost by people who cannot make a moment, and yet can waste years.
Nay, dally not with time, the wise man's treasure though fools are lavish of it.—The fatal fisher hooks our souls, while we waste moments.
Our yesterdays follow us; they constitute our life, and they give character and force and meaning to our present deeds.
Time is what we want most, but what alas! we use worst.
Well arranged time is the surest mark of a well arranged mind.
Make use of time if thou lovest eternity; yesterday cannot be recalled; tomorrow cannot be assured; only today is thine, which if thou procrastinate, thou losest; and which lost is lost forever. One today is worth two tomorrows.
There is a time to be born, and a time to die, says Solomon, and it is the memento of a truly wise man; but there is an interval between these two times of infinite importance.
Time is the chrysalis of eternity.
Time, like a flurry of wild rain, shall drift across the darkened plane.
All that time is lost which might be better employed.
The greatest loss of time is delay and expectation, which depend upon the future. We let go the present, which we have in our power, and look forward to that which depends upon chance,—and so relinguish a certainty for an uncertainty.
The end crowns all; and that old common arbitrator, time, will one day end it.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
Pastime is a word that should never be used but in a bad sense; it is vile to say a thing is agreeable, because it helps to pass the time away.
There can be no persevering industry without a deep sense of the value of time.
Lost wealth may be restored by industry,—the wreck of health regained by temperance,—forgotten knowledge restored by study,—alienated friendship smoothed into forgetfulness,—even forfeited reputation won by penitence and virtue. But who ever looked upon his vanished hours,—recalled his slighted years,—stamped them with wisdom,—or effaced from Heaven's record the fearful blot of wasted time?
Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered, for they are gone forever!
What a solemn and striking admonition to youth is that inscribed on the dial at All Souls, Oxford,—periunt et imputantur,—the hours perish, and are laid to our charge; for time, like life, can never be recalled.
Lost wealth may be replaced by industry, lost knowledge by study, lost health by temperance or medicine, but lost time is gone forever.
Measure, time and number are nothing but modes of thought or rather of imagination.
Each moment, as it passes, is the meeting place of two eternities.
No preacher is listened to but time; which gives us the same train and turn of thought that elder people have tried in vain to put into our heads.
Time is painted with a lock before, and bald behind, signifying thereby that we must take time by the forelock, for when it is once passed there is no recalling it.
It is notorious that joy and grief can hasten and delay time. Locke is of opinion that a man in great misery may so far lose his measure as to think a minute an hour; or in joy make an hour a minute.
As if you could kill time without injuring eternity!
Time is cried out upon as a great thief; it is people's own fault. Use him well, and you will get from his hand more than he will ever take from yours.
Time well employed is Satan's deadliest foe; it leaves no opening for the lurking fiend.
Whatever comes, this too shall pass away.
The bell strikes one. We take no note of time, but from its loss. To give it then a tongue is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, it is the knell of my departed hours. Where are they? With the years beyond the flood. It is the signal that demands despatch; how much is to be done!
Count that day lost, whose slow descending sun views from thine hand no worthy action done.
Youth is not rich in time, it may be poor; part with it as with money, sparing; pay no moment, but in purchase of its worth; and what it's worth, ask death-beds; they can tell.