Quotes about Time
But magic must hurry on, and the lovers remain...
— F Scott Fitzgerald
But Dick had come away for his soul's sake, and he began thinking about that. He had lost himself--he could not tell the hour when, or the day or the week, the month or the year.
— F Scott Fitzgerald
I always watch for the longest day in the year and then I miss it.
— F Scott Fitzgerald
We drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.
— F Scott Fitzgerald
All thought usually reached the public after thirty years in some such form: The man on the street heard the conclusions of some dead genius through someone else's clever paradoxes and didactic epigrams.
— F Scott Fitzgerald
I wouldn't ask too much of her,' I ventured. 'You can't repeat the past.' 'Can't repeat the past?' he cried incredulously. 'Why of course you can!' He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand.
— F Scott Fitzgerald
Vich Deelish My heart is in the heart of my son And my life is in his life surely A man can be twice young In the life of his sons only.
— F Scott Fitzgerald
Later she remembered all the hours of the afternoon as happy--one of those uneventful times that seem at the moment only a link between past and future pleasure but turn out to have been the pleasure itself.
— F Scott Fitzgerald
A man can be twice young in the life of his sons only.
— F Scott Fitzgerald
The thin tunes, holding lost times and future hopes in liaison, twisted upon the Valais night.
— F Scott Fitzgerald
A young man can work at excessive speed with no ill effects, but youth is unfortunately not a permanent condition of life.
— F Scott Fitzgerald
You see, I am fate," it shouted, "and stronger than your puny plans; and I am how-things-turn-out and I am different from your little dreams, and I am the flight of time and the end of beauty and unfulfilled desire; all the accidents and imperceptions and the little minutes that shape the crucial hours are mine. I am the exception that proves no rules, the limits of your control, the condiment in the dish of life.
— F Scott Fitzgerald