Oh build your ship of death, oh build it in time and build it lovingly, and put it between the hands of your soul.

Time doesn't stop. Your life doesn't stop and wait until you get ready to start living it.

Tick. Tick. Tick. This is the sound of your life running out.

Let time that makes you homely make you sage.

If we take care of the moments the years will take care of themselves.

As you get up in the morning, as you make decisions, as you spend money, make friends, make commitments, you are creating a piece of art called your life.

The timing of death, like the ending of a story, gives a changed meaning to what proceeds it.

She thought that relaxation was attractive only in those for whom it was an unnatural state; then even limpness acquired purpose.

The hours ahead, like all her nights with him, would be added, she thought, to that savings account of one's life where moments of time are stored in the pride of having been lived.

Since a value is that which one acts to gain and/or keep, and the amount of possible action is limited by the duration of one's lifespan, it is a part of one's life that one invests in everything one values. The years, months, days or hours of thought, of interest, of action devoted to a value are the currency with which one pays for the enjoyment one receives from it.

You know, I'm not any kind of a great man. I couldn't have built that railroad. If it goes, I won't be able to bring it back. I'll have to go with it. . . .

Faulkner reminds us, the past is never dead and buried - it is not even past.