Time. I can have it. I can give it. It can be taken from me, or it can be allowed for me. I can save it and I can lose it. I can make up for its loss, or I can waste it. I can arrive when it is right, or be somewhere when it is wrong. I can even stop it, or it can run on so quickly that I could never catch up. More obscurely, a stitch in it saves nine. Time flies and yet drags, but mostly it simply passes. It could come again, or it...