time
Rating: 13 point(s) | Read and rate text individually
I do not have enough time left in my life to spend it
with training for the world record in marathon running.
(hi, old pirate)
Amount of texts to »time« | 173, and there are 164 texts (94.80%) with a rating above the adjusted level (-3) |
Average lenght of texts | 168 Characters |
Average Rating | 8.035 points, 8 Not rated texts |
First text | on Apr 16th 2000, 16:33:46 wrote Groggy groove about time |
Latest text | on Jan 31st 2019, 19:17:47 wrote Cindy about time |
Some texts that have not been rated at all
(overall: 8) |
on Nov 27th 2007, 17:19:58 wrote
on Jul 24th 2007, 19:28:05 wrote
on Nov 1st 2015, 09:30:20 wrote |
I do not have enough time left in my life to spend it
with training for the world record in marathon running.
(hi, old pirate)
Time left me one day, and when it did it told me not to be frightened that it would be back if I asked. You see it wasn't feeling appreciated by me, it said it was tired of being there when all people wanted was more, more, more. At first I felt empowered to change my surroundings, without time I could fix all my problems. Then crying to myself, no time later at all, I realized I couldn't measure myself against infinity. I begged time to return, that I was happy with it when it was here. I said I would never complain about not there being enough and like warm rain, time came back to engulf me, and rescue me from oblivion. I told time that I was glad he was back, and that as much as he was here is all of him I'd need.
Do not squander time for that is the stuff life is made of.
(Benjamin Franklin)
The maintainers of this site claim that it's impossible to have a conversation if there is no way of knowing when a given entry was posted. Is that true? Is it necessary to arrange the various parts of a potential conversation in sequential order for a conversation to exist?
Time is the most valuable thing a man can spend.
(Theophrastus)
In theory one is aware that the earth revolves, but in practice one does not perceive it, the ground upon which one treads seems not to move, and one can live undisturbed. So it is with Time in one's life.
(Marcel Proust)
Time will explain it all. He is a talker, and needs no questioning before he speaks.
(Euripides)
There was ample time to note these particulars, for besides that they were sufficiently obvious without very close observation, some moments elapsed before any one broke silence
There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep.
(Homer)
It's time for the human race to enter the solar system.
(Dan Quayle)
Shakespeare Sonnet-a-Day
XIX.
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.
Time itself seemed to have grown dull and old, as if no day were ever to displace the melancholy night.
THE TIME you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.
To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.
Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:
Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.
So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.
And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl’s.
A.E.Housman To an Athlete Dying Young
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