We live in time--it holds us and molds us--but I never felt I understood it very well. And I'm not referring to theories about how it bends and doubles back, or may exist elsewhere in parallel versions. No, I mean ordinary, everyday time, which clocks and watches assure us passes regularly: ticktock, clickclock. Is there anything more plausible than a second hand? And yet it takes only the smallest pleasure or pain to teach us time's malleability. Some emotions speed it up, others slow it down; occasionally, it seems to go missing - until the eventual point when it really does go missing, never to return; dice Julian Barnes en Sense of an Ending y con esta termino las tres citas que encontré en un e-mail que me envié hace unos añitos.