Coming down life's highwayAt ninety mile an hour I want to slideWith bad brakes and bald tiresInto my final parking space

A thousand happy moments succumbed to history. It was the happiest hour of the year, worst time of our lives. I can still smell the ruins from that cold dark brute stormy October night.

Why do you feel so powerless? Go spend an hour with ants. Each of those black specks you see is a life. One whole life that you can save, take, or affect in some way. You have the power to make so many lives better. It is within you. Don’t lose sight of that.

THE WEATHER OF LOVELoveHas a way of wiltingOr blossomingAt the strangest,Most unpredictable hour.This is how love is,An uncontrollable beastIn the form of a flower.The sun does not always shine on it.Nor does the rain always pour on itNor should it always get beaten by a storm.Love does not always emit the sweetest scents,And sometimes it can sting with its thorns.Water it.Give it plenty of sunlight.Nurture it,And the flower of love willOutlive you.Neglect it or keep dissecting it,And its petals will quickly curl up and die.This is how love is,Perfection is a delusional vision.So love the person who loves youUnconditionally,And abandon the oneWho only loves youUnder favorableConditions.

LoveHas a way of wiltingOr blossomingAt the strangest,Most unpredictable hour.This is how love is,An uncontrollable beastIn the form of a flower.

Dear God . . . the dread hour is nigh." - Jace Wayland

In the meantime, there is not an hour to lose. I am about to visit the public library.

Though I can make a friend in an hour, it will take a lifetime to cultivate a friendship.

Working a 40 hour work week is a very shallow and unfulfilling experience for many people.

Time is a lie. Each second, when I am not with you, seems like an eternity and every moment when your breath touches my skin, which makes each bit of my soul crave for you feels the same too. Each hour when I am with you seems like a second and when I am inside your arms, even eternity feels the same too.

In the end, history proved the Jews correct. Across time and place, memory lives on the tenacity of a people’s resolve never to forget—not just with words—but with an endless stream of concrete actions rushing every day, every hour, every minute, every second.

It must be remembered that the forty hour work week until age sixty five was designed by governments and corporations and not the medical profession.

Speed of love is measured in blushes per hour.

Clocks were invented to warn us. Tick (time is passing). Tock (time has passed).

I really look forward to that insane hour that we spend together. I really do.

The hour is only love thus, if you've waited.

Foolishness sleeps soundly, while knowledge turns with each thinking hour, longing for the dawn of answers.

Every hour, stop and ask: Am I really present in this moment? If not, what are my thoughts focused on? Doing this often will help you return to the present moment.

An hour is indeed a long time when you count every second

Unlike clocks, hours have no reverse motion..

You don't have forever. You have 24 hours each day to live by your values. People remember you only for what was most important in your life.

Waking up in the same place in which you dozed off has never happened either to you or to anyone else. Ever. Earth does not stop moving when you sleep. Every hour that passes, Earth travels a little more than 800,000 kilometres around the centre of our galaxy. And so do you. That's the equivalent of about twenty trips around the planet. Every hour. No one minds, though, as long as their bed stays still beneath their body.

Everything comes at the right time, but if the right time is too late to be patient, go earlier before it becomes too late.

A crust of bread and a corner to sleep in. A minute to smile and an hour to weep in. A pint of joy to a peck of trouble, And never a laugh but the moans come double. And that is life. A crust and a corner that makes love precious, With a smile to warm and tears to refresh us, And joy seems sweeter when cares come after, And a moan is the finest of foils for laughter. And that is life.

A hallowed frequency withinThat, even in your darkest hour,You can always turn to.

Does it matter how long they were together that night? To lovers, an hour can last a century. But even for lovers, every hour ends.

Truly Time is a vast Denful of Horrour, round about which a Serpent winds and in the winding bites itself by the Tail. Now, now is the Hour, every Hour, every part of an Hour, every Moment, which in its end does begin again and never ceases to end: a beginning continuing, always ending.

It is almost startling to hear this warning of departed time sounding among the tombs, and telling the lapse of the hour, which, like a billow, has rolled us onward towards the grave.

Stuff that would be weird in the bright light of day just wasn't so much once you passed a certain hour.

It's a new minute, a new hour and a new day cherish it !!!!!!!

Same time as every day, Fyl..." she fussed, the rest of the bridge crew seeming to hold their breaths. "TWELVE THIRTY!" came the chorus. The next hour dragged by, in about the same way as the hour before that. At twelve twenty-five, Commander Ortez found himself stepping out of an elevator into an equally mundane grey steel corridor on his way to the mess hall. Turning a corner, he met with a stream of crewmen milling around between shifts. Some off-duty personnel were lounging around in civvies, which consisted mostly of re-revamped 60's hippy fashions. Of all the places on the ship, the mess was the most spacious, (i.e.: it was a big mess.) The command officer’s balcony overhung the rest of the crew dining area. Ortez sat at his usual place, wincing as he remembered to get someone to fix the springs in his chair. An ensign, 3rd class dressed in chef’s white, served him with a plate of what either ended up feeding the chefs latest pet - or strangling it. Marnetti, Barnum and the sciences officer Commander Jaris Skotchdopole filed in, not necessarily in that order, and found seats. After a few bites, Marnetti -- who was the first officer and navigator, put up a hand and signalled a waiter. The lad approached fearfully, appreciating the highlight of his day.

Even in that difficult hour when he knew death was imminent, he never indulged in self-pity. He knew intuitively that a person is only a victim if he accepts himself as one.

Weird, even for one of us. Or maybe she's worse.""Worse how?""Normal.

O great creator of being grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives.