“Time and memory are true artists; they remould reality nearer to the h...” — John Dewey Quote

“Time and memory are true artists; they remould reality nearer to the heart's desire.”

“Arriving at one goal is the starting point to another.”

“Nature is the mother and the habitat of man, even if sometimes a stepmother and an unfriendly home.”

“A problem well put is half solved.”

“Education is not preparation for life; education is life itself.”

“Faith in the possibilities of continued and rigorous inquiry does not limit access to truth to any channel or scheme of things. It does not first say that truth is universal and then add there is but one road to it.”

“She had needed the time to know that this love would not destroy her, and I had, I now knew, given her that time, could give it, for it was what I had in great supply.”

“Time is of essence because sometimes damage control can turn into a never ending nightmare.”

“It's hard to believe. Where does the times go?' Betty sighs. 'I've always hated that phrase. It makes it would like time went on a holiday, and is expected back any day now. Time flies is another one I hate. Apparently, time does quite a bit of traveling, though.”

“Pain is my best Friend, because I have never spent more Time with anyone and he will never forsake me.hold.”

“The years are like wine — you go on ahead, we’ll catch up.”

“He sat for long hours among the cypress trees of Tuscany. And never had any trees seemed so like ghosts, like soft, strange, pregnant presences. He lay and watched tall cypresses breathing and communicating, faintly moving and as it were walking in the small wind. And his soul seemed to leave him and to go far away, far back, perhaps, to where life was all different and time passed otherwise than time passes now. As in clairvoyance he perceived it: that our life is only a fragment of the shell of life. That there has been and will be life, human life such as we do not begin to conceive. Much that is life has passed away from men, leaving us all mere bits. In the dark, mindful silence and inflection of the cypress trees, lost races, lost languages, lost human ways of feeling and of knowing. Men have known as we can no more know, have felt as we can no more feel. Great life-realities gone into the darkness. But the cypresses commemorate. In the afternoon, Aaron felt the cypresses rising dark about him, like so many high visitants from an old, lost, lost subtle world, where men had the wonder of demons about them, the aura of demons, such as still clings to the cypresses, in Tuscany.”