When we think of loss we think of the loss, through death, of people we love. But loss is a far more encompassing theme in our life. For we lose not only through death, but also by leaving and being left, by changing and letting go and moving on. And our losses include not only our separations and departures from those we love, but our conscious and unconscious losses of romantic dreams, impossible expectations, illusions of freedom and power, illusions of safety — and the loss of our own younger self, the self that thought it would always be unwrinkled and invulnerable and immortal.
Judith Viorst (b. 1931) American writer, journalist, psychoanalysis researcher
Necessary Losses, Introduction (1986)
(Source)
Quotations about:
passage of time
Note not all quotations have been tagged, so Search may find additional quotes on this topic.
Ah, Postumus! they fleet away,
Our years, nor piety one hour
Can win from wrinkles and decay,
And Death’s indomitable power.
[Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume,
labuntur anni nec pietas moram
rugis et instanti senectae
adferet indomitaeque morti.]Horace (65-8 BC) Roman poet and satirist [Quintus Horacius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 2, # 14, l. 1ff (2.14.1-4) (23 BC) [tr. Conington (1872)]
(Source)
"To Postumus." It is unclear which acquaintance of Horace this was addressed to; the name is popularly associated (back to Horace's time) with being given to a child born after the death of their father (which gives it a certain irony here); in reality, it was originally given to the (broader) category of last children of a father.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Ah Posthumus! the years of man
Slide on with winged pace, nor can
Vertue reprieve her friend
From wrinkles, age, and end.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Time (Posthumus) goes with full sail,
Nor can thy honest heart avail
A furrow'd brow, old age at hand,
Or Death unconquer'd to withstand:
One long night,
Shall hide this light
From all our sight,
And equal Death
Shall few dayes hence,
stop every breath.
[tr. S. W.; ed. Brome (1666)]The whirling year, Ah Friend! the whirling year Rouls on apace;
And soon shall wrinkles plough thy wither'd Face:
In vain you wast your Pious breath,
No prayers can stay, no vows defer
The swift approach of Age, and conqu'ring Death.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Alas! my Postumus, my Postumus, the fleeting years glide on; nor will piety cause any delay to wrinkles, and advancing old age, and insuperable death.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Ah, Posthumus, the years, the fleeting years
Still onwards, onwards glide;
Nor mortal virtue may
Time's wrinkling fingers stay,
Nor Age's sure advance, nor Death's all-conquering stride.
[tr. Martin (1864)]Postumus, Postumus, the years glide by us,
Alas! no piety delays the wrinkles,
Nor old age imminent,
Nor the indomitable hand of Death.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]Ah! Postumus! Devotion fails
The lapse of gliding years to stay,
With wrinkled age it nought avails
Nor conjures conquering Death away.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]Ah me! how quickly, Postumus, Postumus,
Glide by the years! nor even can piety
Delay the wrinkles, and advancing
Age, and attacks of unconquer'd Hades.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]Alas! Postumus, Postumus, the fleeing years
Slip by, and duteousness does not give pause
To wrinkles, or to hasting age,
Or death unconquerable.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]Ah! Postumus, Postumus, fast fly the years,
And prayers to wrinkles and impending age
Bring not delay; nor shalt assuage
Death's stroke with pious tears.
[tr. Marshall (1908)]Alas, O Postumus, Postumus, the years glide swiftly by, nor will righteousness give pause to wrinkles, to advancing age, or Death invincible.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Ah, Postumus, my Postumus, the fleeting years roll by;
Wrinkles and ever nearing eld stay not for piety:
Relentless they, relentless death's unconquered tyranny.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Ah, how they glide by, Postumus, Postumus,
The years, the swift years! Wrinkles and imminent
Old age and death, whom no one conquers --
Piety cannot delay their onward
March.
[tr. Michie (1963)]Oh year by year, Póstumay,
Póstumay, time slips by,
And holiness can't stop us drying,
Or hold off death.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]How the years go by, alas how the years go by.
Behaving well can do nothing at all about it.
Wrinkles will come, old age will come, and death,
Indomitable. Nothing at all will work.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]Alas! O Postumus, Postumus! Swiftly the years glide by, and no amount of piety will wrinkles delay or halt approaching age or ineluctable death.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Oh how the years fly, Postumus, Postumus,
they’re slipping away, virtue brings no respite
from the wrinkles that furrow our brow,
impending old age, Death the invincible.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone will drop to zero.
Chuck Palahniuk (b. 1962) American novelist and freelance journalist
Fight Club, ch. 2 (1997)
(Source)
The phrase also shows up later in the book, in ch. 24: "On a long enough time line, everyone's survival rate drops to zero."
In the 1999 movie adaptation (screenplay by Jim Uhls), the Narrator's line is "On a long enough time line the survival rate for everyone drops to zero."
“Pooh, promise you won’t forget about me, ever. Not even when I’m a hundred.”
Pooh thought for a little.
“How old shall I be then?”
“Ninety-nine.”
Pooh nodded.
“I promise,” he said.A. A. Milne (1882-1956) English poet and playwright [Alan Alexander Milne]
The House at Pooh Corner, ch. 10 [Christopher Robin and Pooh] (1928)
(Source)
Possibly the inspiration of the spurious Pooh quotation:If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you.
For more discussion about this and related quotes, see May You All Live Forever. May I Live Forever Less A Day – Quote Investigator®.
The only way to forget time is to make use of it.
[On ne peut oublier le temps qu’en s’en servant.]
Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867) French poet, essayist, art critic
Journaux Intimes [Intimate Journals], “Mon cœur mis à nu [My Heart Laid Bare],” § 111 (1864–1867; pub. 1887) [tr. Sieburth (2022)]
(Source)
(Source (French)). Alternate translations:One can only forget Time by making use of it.
[tr. Isherwood (1930)]One can only forget about time by making use of it.
[Common, e.g.]
But time meanwhile is flying, flying beyond recall, while we, charmed with love of our theme, linger around each detail!
[Sed fugit interea, fugit inreparabile tempus,
singula dum capti circumvectamur amore.]
Virgil (70-19 BC) Roman poet [b. Publius Vergilius Maro; also Vergil]
Georgics [Georgica], Book 3, l. 284ff (3.284-285) (29 BC) [tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1916)]
(Source)
After a lengthy description of the springtime mating habits of wild animals and horses, Virgil basically saying, "But I digress ..." (and, a bit more directly, "And there's fifteen minutes you're never getting back").
Origin of the phrase tempus fugit ("time flies").
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:But time irreparable hastes away.
Whil'st we with love transported waste the day.
[tr. Ogilby (1649)]But time is lost, which never will renew,
While we too far the pleasing Path pursue;
Surveying Nature, with too nice a view.
[tr. Dryden (1709), l. 448ff]But, while love's copious themes our course delay,
Time flits, irrevocably flits away.
[tr. Nevile (1767), l. 337]But time irreparable flies away,
While in the maze of love we fondly stray.
[tr. Sotheby (1800)]But time flies meanwhile, flies irretrievable, while we, enamoured [of the theme], minutely trace particulars.
[tr. Davidson (1854)]But time is flying, flying, and for aye,
And we, love's prisoners, on his circuit stray.
[tr. Blackmore (1871)]But time meanwhile is flying, flying past recall, while, enamoured of our voyage, we are coasting every point.
[tr. Wilkins (1873)]Fast flies meanwhile the irreparable hour,v
As point to point our charmed round we trace.
[tr. Rhoades (1881)]But lo! while we of love seductive sing,
Time onward flies, nor stays his restless wing.
[tr. King (1882), l. 293ff]But meanwhile Time, Time that cannot be recalled, is fleeting, while enamored of my theme I enter into all details.
[tr. Bryce (1897)]But time fleets meanwhile, fleets beyond recovery, while in loving enthrallment we pass on and on.
[tr. Mackail (1899)]But the time meanwhile is fleeting, is fleeting past recall,
While we hover around each flower of the field that holds us in thrall.
[tr. Way (1912)]But time runs by, irreparable time.
As mastered by my subject's charm, I course
Slowly from point to point.
[tr. Williams (1915)]But time is on the move still, time that will not return,
While we go cruising around this subject whose lore delights us.
[tr. Day-Lewis (1940)]But time slides past, slides past beyond recall,
While, spellbound, we drift off among details.
[tr. Bovie (1956)]But meantime it escapes us, time, never to be recaptured, escapes us while we linger over details, captivated by love. [tr. Miles (1980)]But time is flying, flying beyond recall.
While captivated I linger lovingly,
Touring from this to that.
[tr. Wilkinson (1982)]But meanwhile time flies, flies irretrievably,
while, captivated by passion, I describe each detail.
[tr. Kline (2001)]But meanwhile time flies, it flies beyond recovery
while, captive to each fact, we are carried away by love.
[tr. Lembke (2004)]Meanwhile, it flies, time flies irretrievably,
while captivated with love we ramble through minutiae.
[tr. Johnson (2009)]But meanwhile uncoverable time
Is flying, flying past us while we linger,
Enraptured by our theme.
[tr. Ferry (2015)]
MACBETH: To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Macbeth, Act 5, sc. 5, l. 22ff (5.5.22-31) (1606)
(Source)
Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold;
New things succeed, as former things grow old.Robert Herrick (1591-1674) English poet
“Ceremonies for Candlemas Eve,” Hesperides, # 892 (1648)
(Source)
CALVIN: Know what’s weird? Day by day nothing seems to change. But pretty soon, everything is different.
