Time is the continuous loop, the snakeskin with scales endlessly overlapping without beginning or end, or time is an ascending spiral if you will, like a child's toy Slinky.
The surest sign of age is loneliness.
I'm a housewife: I spend far more time on housework than anything else.
Experiencing the present purely is being empty and hollow; you catch grace as a man fills his cup under a waterfall.
A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time.
No, the point is not only does time fly and do we die, but that in these reckless conditions we live at all, and are vouchsafed, for the duration of certain inexplicable moments, to know it.