He's made a tremendous amount of difference in a bad way. He truly wants to dial the clock back to the 1920s, before we saw the modern federal state evolve.
difference bad state clock made evolve modern
There's no sense talking about priorities. Priorities reveal themselves. We're all transparent against the face of the clock.
sense priorities talking face clock
The run [in the third quarter] killed us. Because now we were in catch-up mode and the clock was running. We just weren't knocking down shots.
running run clock
In the real dark night of the soul it is always three o' clock in the morning, day after day.
soul real dark night day morning clock
There is a loneliness in this world so greatthat you can see it in the slow movement ofthe hands of a clock. People so tiredmutilatedeither by love or no love. People just are not good to each otherone on one. The rich are not good to the richthe poor are not good to the poor. We are afraid. Our educational system tells usthat we can all bebig-ass winners. It hasn't told usabout the guttersor the suicides. Or the terror of one personaching in one placealoneuntouchedunspoken towatering a plant.
people system world good loneliness educational terror poor movement hands afraid clock rich love
Nothing in the world is ever completely wrong. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.
motivation inspirational world wrong day clock
The finished clock is resplendent. At first glance it is simply a clock, a rather large black clock with a white face and a silver pendulum. Well crafted, obviously, with intricately carved woodwork edges and a perfectly painted face, but just a clock. But that is before it is wound. Before it begins to tick, the pendulum swinging steadily and evenly. Then, then it becomes something else. The changes are slow. First, the color changes in the face, shifts from white to grey, and then there are clouds that float across it, disappearing when they reach the opposite side. Meanwhile, bits of the body of the clock expand and contract, like pieces of a puzzle. As though the clock is falling apart, slowly and gracefully. All of this takes hours. The face of the clock becomes a darker grey, and then black, with twinkling stars where numbers had been previously. The body of the clock, which has been methodically turning itself inside out and expanding, is now entirely subtle shades of white and grey. And it is not just pieces, it is figures and objects, perfectly carved flowers and planets and tiny books with actual paper pages that turn. There is a silver dragon that curls around part of the now visible clockwork, a tiny princess in a carved tower who paces in distress, awaiting an absent prince. Teapots that pour into teacups and minuscule curls of steam that rise from them as the seconds tick. Wrapped presents open. Small cats chase small dogs. An entire game of chess is played. At the center, where a cuckoo bird would live in a more traditional timepiece, is the juggler. Dress in harlequin style with a grey mask, he juggles shiny silver balls that correspond to each hour. As the clock chimes, another ball joins the rest until at midnight he juggles twelve balls in a complex pattern. After midnight, the clock begins once more to fold in upon itself. The face lightens and the cloud returns. The number of juggled balls decreases until the juggler himself vanishes. By noon it is a clock again, and no longer a dream.
numbers style chase change time rest game art live chess fantasy body clouds color dream cats stars black prince small dragon flowers dogs pieces mask falling face open wound complex princess bird white inside clock cloud part pages paper dress tower books side rise visible
A book no more contains reality than a clock contains time. A book may measure so-called reality as a clock measures so-called time; a book may create an illusion of reality as a clock creates an illusion of time; a book may be real, just as a clock is real (both more real, perhaps, than those ideas to which they allude); but let's not kid ourselves - all a clock contains is wheels and springs and all a book contains is sentences.
time real reality illusion ideas book measure create clock books
Being ill when you are a child or growing up is such an enchanted interlude! The outside world, the world of free time in the yard or the garden or on the street, is only a distant murmmur in the sickroom. Inside, a whole world of characters and stories proliferate out of the books you read. The fever that weakens your perception as it sharpens your imagination turns the sickroom into something new, both familiar and strange; monsters come grinning out of the patterns on the curtains and the carpet, and chairs, tables, bookcases and wardrobes burst out of their normal shapes and become mountains and buildings and ships you can almost touch although they're far away. Through the long hours of the night you have the Church clock for company and the rumble of the occasional passing car that throws it's headlights across the walls and ceilings. These are hours without sleep, which is not to say they're sleepless, because on the contrary, they're not about lack of anything, they are rich and full. Desires, memories, fears, passions form labryinths in which we lose and find then lose ourselves again. They are hours where anything is possible, good or bad.
reading car sleep imagination perception time stories world characters church good memories mountains growing childhood fears night bad patterns desires child company passions find free lose ships monsters touch strange read normal garden inside clock rich walls form lack books
And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
life death gay darkness clock red decay
When the clock stops on a life, all things emanating from it become precious, finite, and cordoned off for preservation. Each aspect of the dead person is removed from the flux of the everyday, which, of course, is where we miss him most. The quarantine around death makes it feel unlucky and wrong--a freakish incursion--and the dead, thus quarantined, come to seem more dead than they already are.. Borrowing from the dead is a way of keeping them engaged in life's daily transactions--in other words, alive.
life death words person feel loved-ones dead alive things precious preservation clock
Again time elapsed.
mystery time clock
Montag shook his head. He looked at a blank wall. The girl's face was there, really quite beautiful in memory: astonishing, in fact. She had a very thin face like the dial of a small clock seen faintly in a dark room in the middle of a night when you waken to see the time and see the clock telling you the hour and the minute and the second, with a white silence and a glowing, all certainty and knowing what it had to tell of the night passing swiftly on toward further darknesses, but moving also toward a new sun.
darkness sun clock
Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by. The past increases, the future recedes. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting.
time future past possibilities clock
When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white; When lofty trees I see barren of leavesWhich erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summer's green all girded up in sheavesBorne on the bier with white and bristly beard, Then of thy beauty do I question make, That thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsakeAnd die as fast as they see others grow; And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defenceSave breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.
time shakespeare clock sonnet
The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike
time stars marlowe clock
Day is just a collection of hours.
time day clock
There was a sudden stillness like the gap between ticks on a clock, but the next tick never coming.
time stillness clock
Time in itself, absolutely, does not exist; it is always relative to some observer or some object. Without a clock I say 'I do not know the time'. Without matter time itself is unknowable. Time is a function of matter; and matter therefore is the clock that makes infinity real.
time clock
The clock sweats out each minuteof what meat is left to us.
time clock meat sweat
Even natural languages have personalities. 'Escapement' is the name of a device, a toothed wheel, that controls the motion of the hands of the clock. The word has connotations of gaining freedom. The German equivalent is 'Hemmung.' It means 'restraint,' and also, 'inhibition.' It conjures up images of of losing freedom. In describing a presumably emotionally neutral gadget, the two languages perceive in its functions two diametrically opposite states of human condition.
I can hear the clock ticking, but I can never find the time.
life time clock
Why should I wake when I'm half past dead?
autumn clock
A story conducted by the time of a clock and calendars alone would be a story not of human beings but of mechanical toys.
stories novels clock
Her eyes were of different colors, the left as brown as autumn, the right as gray as Atlantic wind. Both seemed alive with questions that would never be voiced, as if no words yet existed with which to frame them. She was nineteen years old, or thereabouts; her exact age was unknown. Her face was as fresh as an apple and as delicate as blossom, but a marked depression in the bones beneath her left eye gave her features a disturbing asymmetry. Her mouth never curved into a smile. God, it seemed, had withheld that possibility, as surely as from a blind man the power of sight. He had withheld much else. Amparo was touched by genius, by madness, by the Devil, or by a conspiracy of all these and more. She took no sacraments and appeared incapable of prayer. She had a horror of clocks and mirrors. By her own account she spoke with Angels and could hear the thoughts of animals and trees. She was passionately kind to all living things. She was a beam of starlight trapped in flesh and awaiting only the moment when it would continue on its journey into forever. (p.33)
depression journey smile questions prayer wind autumn eyes madness bones angel colors clock apple tree mirror god horror
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