Time (n.) would 'reverse', in Eddington's talk of entropy, if people one day began walking backwards; calling it that says only that they changed the direction they walk in.
Time (n.) measured by a clock is not a crude substitute for some purer idea of an hour; there are just two uses of the word, and no reason to call one less real.
Time (n.) became a river because we watched logs float by and built the simile into our language — the flow of events, and then the flow of time, the river on which the logs travel.
Time (n.) seems a queer thing with something hidden inside, yet all the facts lie open before us; what mystifies us is the noun.
Time (n.) made into a deity would be, once you look into the grammar of the word, no less astounding an invention than a deity of negation or disjunction.
Time (n.) puzzled Augustine — the past is gone, the future not yet, the present has no extension, so how measure it? — because he pictured measuring a travelling band of which we see only a tiny bit.
Time (n.) is thought of as a queer medium, as the mind is thought of as a queer kind of being — the confusion of is with is called.
Time (n.) on the sun, 'is it five o'clock there?', shows one can talk about a case without having thought it through.
Time (n.) pictured passing as a remorseless film strip is a misapplied picture; as the possibility of change, time does not flow.
Time (n.) appears to us essentially an infinite possibility, obviously infinite from what we know of its structure.
Time (n.) contains now the possibility of all the future.
Time (n.) has infinity in its nature, not in its extension; no day can be the last though no infinite interval is imaginable.
Time (n.) is infinite not as a duration: 'each hour is followed by a next' is a rule of the grammar of time.
Time (n.) treated as a person is a singular logical manipulation.
Time (n.) having only one direction must be nonsense, if direction is a logical property.