There’s hours for you. It’s inch by inch and hour by hour to death. It’s hours gone and hours still to go. No puzzle there. A child can count it out. But what is time itself, dear friend? What is the sea where hours float? Am I daft, or is it true there’s no such thing as hours past and other hours still to pass, but all of them instead are all at once and never gone? Is there no time lost that ever was? Is there no time yet to come that’s not here now?
— Godric in Frederick Buechner’s Godric
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