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Quotes related to Psalm 90:12
For the third trilogy, I don't know if I will still be alive when it comes the time to make them.
— George Lucas
You don't push the button that says "Now I will write something that resonates in time." You don't know. It's what happens after a play is finished.
— John Guare
Hours and days and months and years go by; the past returns no more, and what is to be we cannot know; but whatever the time gives us in which we live, we should therefore be content.
— Cicero
Now is the time to be doing, now is the time to be stirring, now is the time to amend myself.
— Thomas a Kempis
What is time for if not to bless?
— Ann Voskamp
Oh, how precious is time, and how it pains me to see it slide away, while I do so little to any good purpose.
— David Brainerd
If we take care of the moments, the years will take care of themselves.
— Maria Edgeworth
T]horoughly unprepared we take the step into the afternoon of life; worse still, we take this step with the false assumption that our truths and ideals will serve us as hitherto. But we cannot live the afternoon of life according to the programme of life's morning; for what was great in the morning will be little at evening, and what in the morning was true will at evening have become a lie. — Carl Jung, Stages of Life
— Marianne Williamson
One of the ideas we must agree on and continue to forge with individual and collective vigor is that a woman's life goes uphill at forty.
— Marianne Williamson
Evening may therefore be called 'the old age of the day,' and old age, 'the evening of life,' or, in the phrase of Empedocles, 'life's setting sun.
— Aristotle
To his eyes all seemed beautiful, but to me a tinge of melancholy lay upon the countryside, which bore so clearly the mark of the waning year, Yellow leaves carpeted the lanes and fluttered down upon us as we passed, The rattle of our wheels died away as we drove through drifts of rotting vegetation--sad gifts, as it seemed to me, for Nature to throw before the carriage of the returning heir of the Baskervilles.
— Arthur Conan Doyle
If she were seventeen at the time of her father's disappearance she must be seven-and-twenty now--a sweet age, when youth has lost its self-consciousness and become a little sobered by experience.
— Arthur Conan Doyle