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1 " The TSA liked having fresh agents on the job. Fresh agents with a clear mind and steady hand. Time travel wasn’t for the faint of heart. The pay was good though, but as Scrooby had decided long ago, that even if he didn’t get paid for it, the thrill alone was payment enough. Then again, the TSA realized they couldn’t afford to have disgruntled employees with too much time on their hands and the power of the gods at their fingertips, so the pay was very, very good. Debriefing was routine. And how he hated routine! His supervisor was a senior agent called Guy Krummeck, a rather drab character who liked his shiny silver suits almost as much as he liked to go over every little detail at least three times. Minimum. This time everything went right, so it went quick. Twenty minutes later, tired, he clocked out and went home to his small apartment. Tomorrow, after all, was another day again. "
― Christina Engela , The Time Saving Agency
2 " Sometimes work was just what you clocked into while you were falling in love. Sometimes sex was just something you did while you weren't at work. Drugs were something you did sometimes when you couldn't deal with one of those things, or with yourself. The City was so expensive and so grueling sometimes that it was easy to be unsure why you were there. Many were there to make money, money that could largely only be made there, in the long spiny arms of industries that could never grow anywhere else or anywhere smaller. Some people just liked it, its loudness and crowdedness and surprises. Some started there for a reason and then couldn't imagine being anywhere else, but maybe lost track of that reason along the way. Some people had a plan. Some were just chancing it. Either way the months flew by, and over the years you came up with something or you came up with not much. "
― , Very Recent History: An Entirely Factual Account of a Year (c. AD 2009) in a Large City
3 " Drift me away along with the dust traveling to infinity.To another world where it feels more at home.To another world where I don’t feel alone.Trapped in the angst of my soul.Not being embraced as a whole.A state of nothingness creeps upon me.Disappearing in the darkness of the shadows.How it has clocked my life.Because that is the only place where I find peace.I call it nyctophilia.And what am I when the day turns into the night,listening to the nocturnal and the howling wind?My soul leaving my body,To be at rest.Tears strain down my cheeks,Enough for my lungs to fight for air in the peaks.The atmosphere seems to be held in place by a certain silence, waiting for a sign to move.Even the earth forgot its behoove.Taken over by this silence that I yet do not understand myself.It seems that things don’t have a meaning,At least not anymore.The demons and darkness have taken over.Making me believe that it knows better.These demons can’t be seen,But they’re far from imaginary.They live inside my mind.Their evilness prevails,About to end the fight.Then I stop and think:This is a melancholy I’ll fight one more night. "
4 " said Jack matter-of-factly. " I'm a man. We're made to think more quickly." ...Aven swung her fist and clocked Jack square on the chin, knocking him backward into the balloon, which was still under repair....Aven rubbed her knuckles and looked at the others. " Sorry about that. I might have stopped myself from hitting him, but I didn't think of it quickly enough. "
5 " A pen that has clocked up a million words, a lifetime’s memories, is worth more than the centrepiece in a jeweller’s window. "
― Fennel Hudson , A Writer's Year - Fennel's Journal - No. 3
6 " The eyes of hope looking over the flare of the hood into the maw with its white line feeding in straight as an arrow, the lighting of fresh cigarettes, the buckling to lean forward to the next adventure something that's been going on in America ever since the covered wagons clocked the deserts in three months flat— "
― Jack Kerouac , Big Sur
