"What is time?-The shadow on the dial, the striking of the clock, the running of the sand, day and night, summer an winter, months, years, centuries-these are but the arbitrary and outward signs-the measure of time, not time itself. Time is the life of the soul." Thus stated the great poet known to many simply by his last name, Longfellow.
Indeed I believe that most people have asked that question at one point in their life or another. What is time? It should be among the great human inquires next to 'Who am I?' and 'Why am I here?'. If one approached me for the answer to that question I would likely stop, and think very intently for quite a while...and then I would say something similar to this, 'As a single piece of paper is to a book, so is each moment to that great concept called time. A piece of paper is (almost) two dimensional. If removed from a book it tells but a part of the story, explains only a portion of the equation, shows only half of the proverb. Books are three dimensional and they tell the complete story, explain the entire equation, and show the whole proverb. Each single moment which we are able to comprehend is composed of three dimensions. Time is that fourth dimension. Something must first exist, it must then have depth and height for it to be perceived, and finally time, so that the thing might grow, evolve, and affect other things. That is time.
Somehow I don't feel that my answer is any any better than Longfellow's. In fact I would say my answer is slightly confusing. We could say "time is the life of the soul" and that's all very well and good; but then I would question "what is the life of the soul"? Could anyone answer that question rightly? Perhaps time is less something to be defined, and more something to be felt.
So I ask...What is time to you?
