Time is the friend who heals all things. Or the enemy who dries them to dust.
Time flies, marches on, drags or stands still; each tick answered by the tock of passing moments.
Time is stolen – and once in our possession, is frittered away.
Our biggest comfort is spending time. But doing time is to be avoided at any cost.
We make time. It feels luxurious to have a lot of it – except that there’s never enough. Unless we have too much. On our hands.
We think of time in many ways.
But really, what we perceive as time is merely an accumulation of choices. Choose wisely. And may each choice be a revelation of the next. Time.