“O aching time! O moments big as years!”

“Love isn't a burst o' trumpets and a flock o' doves descendin' out o' the heavens to roost on yer heads. Tis sharin' a cup o' tea by the hearth on a cold winter's night. 'Tis the look in yer husband's eyes when ye lay yer first child in his arms.Tis the ache in yer heart when ye watch the light in his eyes dim fer the last time, and know a part o' ye has gone out o' this world with him...”

“O friend, for the morrow let us not worryThis moment we have now, let us not hurryWhen our time comes, we shall not tarryWith seven thousand-year-olds, our burden carry”

“There was no answer. I looked up.Epsilon’s light shone out onto a picture on the wall.A round picture in a square frame.The golden symbol of O. The One. The symbol of perfection.The symbol of eternity. The One without beginning or end.The One who is the beginning and the end.The One to whom time is meaningless. The One who could do whatever he wanted with time. What had Mrs. Shiling said, in the kitchen, a year ago?“Time is nothing. Not to him. A moment in time. What is that t him?”Quivering from head to toe, I stared up at that simple O.”

“Those were big years, big times.”

“Sunt zile care vin prea târziu, ca o graţiere pe care ar afla-o un osândit abia în ultimele momente, când expiră.”