#time

Time is what we have in this life, and how we use it determines what our life is. ↗

— Andy Couturier

#environmentalism #green #japan #sustainability #time

They keep track of time. Sometimes things happen and you feel that you need to mark them down. ↗

— Scott O'Connor

#tattoos #time #kindlehighlight

Love is spelt T.I.M.E. ↗

— Dieter F. Uchtdorf

#spirituality #time #love

This book is a treasure; I did not suspect it would be so good when I picked it up, but now I can feel the printed words seeping through my skin and into my veins, rushing to my heart and marking it forever. I want to savor this wonder, this happening of loving a book and reading it for the first time, because the first time is always the best, and I will never read this book for the first time ever again. ↗

— Laura Nowlin

#first-time #reading #reading-books #love

Mystics are not themselves. They do not exist in selves. They move as they are moved, talk as words come, see with sight that enters their eyes. I met a woman once and asked her where love had led her. Fool, there's no destination to arrive at. Loved one and lover and love are infinite. ↗

— فرید الدین عطار

#sword-sentiments #love

Yes, and only if my own true love was waiting If I could hear his heart softly pounding Yes, and only if he was lying by me Would I lie in my bed once again. ↗

— Bob Dylan

#song #tomorrow-is-a-long-time #love

I went to the mountains, but they were closed. Apparently I wasn’t on Mountain Time. ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#mountain-time #funny

Every spring I hear the thrush singing in the glowing woods he is only passing through. His voice is deep, then he lifts it until it seems to fall from the sky. I am thrilled. I am grateful. Then, by the end of morning, he's gone, nothing but silence out of the tree where he rested for a night. And this I find acceptable. Not enough is a poor life. But too much is, well, too much. Imagine Verdi or Mahler every day, all day. It would exhaust anyone. ↗

— Mary Oliver

#birdsong #music #nature #serenity #spring

She knew that she could not be Jem for Will. No one could. But slowly the hollow places in his heart were filling in. Having Cecily about was a joy for Will; Tessa could see that when they sat together before the fire, speaking Welsh softly, and his eyes glowed; he had even grown to like Gabriel and Gideon, and they were friends for him, though no one could be a friend as Jem had been. And of course, Charlotte's and Henry's love was as steadfast as ever. The wound would never go away... the haunted look faded from his eyes, she began to breathe more easily, knowing that look was not a mortal one. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#love

Will history remember us, I wonder? I do hope so - to imagine that one might do something, touch an event somehow, & thereby transcend the bounds of a single human lifetime! ↗

— Kate Morton

#lifetime #imagination