Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by. The past increases, the future recedes. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting.
The mercy of the world is time. Time does not stop for love, but it does not stop for death and grief, either.
Time in its irresistible and ceaseless flow carries along on its flood all created things and drowns them in the depths of obscurity.
The present necessarily betrays the past.
Time perfects all living beings as well as kills them; it alone is awake when all others are asleep. Time is insurmountable.
The night kept coming on in and there was nothing I could do.
O time! swift devourer of all created things!
Nothing can be done about it: every master has but a single pupil--and he will not stay loyal to him--for he is also destined to become a master.
This World is not Conclusion. A Sequel stands beyond- Invisible, as Music- But positive, as Sound.
There is a time when the word "eventually" has the soothing effect of a promise, and a time when the word evokes in us bitterness and scorn.
We've traveled too far, and our momentum has taken over; we move idly towards eternity, without possibility of reprieve or hope of explanation.
