The Moment (n.) is not properly an atom of time but an atom of eternity (insofar as time is infinite succession). The moment is the first reflection of eternity in time, its first attempt, as it were, at stopping time.
The Moment (n.) is that thing with which history begins, for time has no significance at all for nature.
The Moment (n.) is the existentially disruptive undoing of the world spirit in hegel.
A Moment (n.) decides goodness: to be good, a thing must be at once, for “at once” is the most divine of all categories; what does not occur at once is of the evil.
A Moment (n.) after a decisive act is like a hyphen between two words.
The Moment (n.) is what comparison always loses: a moment lost breaks the chain of eternity — and to lose the eternal is to become immediate.
The Moment (n.) that stands still is like a whirlpool, which does not move forward though all is striving, winning and losing; then Christianity gives vision: earthly life is the time of sowing, eternity the harvest.
A Moment (n.) and eternity both mean a present with no past and no future; in the sensuous life that is its imperfection, in the eternal its perfection.
A Moment (n.) is a blink of the eye: nothing is swifter, and yet it is commensurable with the content of the eternal.
A Moment (n.) is not an atom of time but an atom of eternity — eternity's first reflection in time, its first attempt at stopping time.
A Moment (n.) pursued teaches us not to lay hold of the eternal but to drive ourselves, our neighbors and the moment to death — to lead the waltz once, like a young woman's loveliness that enchants a ballroom and fades by morning.
The Moment (n.) cannot hold a human being entirely, since he has the eternal in him; the harder he tries to live without it, the less he lives in today.
The Moment (n.) at its most beautiful, set beside the eternal, is the brief silvery gleam of counterfeit metal.