Time wasted is existence, used is life.
MAYALINES CATEGORY
Time Quotes
Discover notable time quotes by influential authors on Mayalines.
Dost thou love life? then do not squander time; for that is the stuff life is made of.
Make use of time, if thou valuest eternity. Yesterday cannot be recalled; to-morrow cannot be assured; to-day only is thine, which, if thou procrastinatest, thou losest, which loss is lost forever.
Time,—that black and narrow isthmus between two eternities.
Hours are golden links, God's token      Reaching heaven; but one by one Take them, lest the chain be broken      Ere the pilgrimage be done.
Observe a method in the distribution of your time. Every hour will then know its proper employment, and no time will be lost.
In the spirit of faith let us begin each day, and we shall be sure to "redeem the time" which it brings to us, by changing it into something definite and eternal. There is a deep meaning in this phrase of the apostle, to redeem time. We redeem time, and do not merely use it. We transform it into eternity by living it aright.
The best general means to insure the profitable employment of our time, is to accustom ourselves to living in continual dependence upon the Spirit of God and His law, receiving, every instant, whatever He is pleased to bestow; consulting Him in every emergency requiring instant action, and having recourse to Him in our weaker moments when virtue seems to fail.
He who cannot find time to consult his Bible will one day find he has time to be sick; he who has no time to pray must find time to die; he who can find no time to reflect is most likely to find time to sin; he who cannot find time for repentance will find an eternity in which repentance will be of no avail; he who cannot find time to work for others may find an eternity in which to suffer for himself.
  ​ How awful that silent, unceasing footfall of receding days is when once we begin to watch it! Inexorable, passionless—though hope and fear may pray, "Sun, stand thou still on Gibeon, and thou moon in the valley of Ajalon,"—the tramp of the hours goes on. The poets paint them as a linked chorus of rosy forms, garlanded and clasping hands as they dance onwards. So they may be to some of us at some moments. So they may seem as they approach; but those who come hold the hands of those that go, and that troop have no rosy light upon their limbs, their garlands are faded, the sunshine falls not upon the gray and shrouded shapes, as they steal ghostlike through the gloom.
With the magnificence of eternity before us, let time, with all its fluctuations, dwindle into its own littleness.