"We said, there's another second gone, there's another minute and another hour and another day, when, as a matter of fact the second or the minute or the hour was never gone. It was the same one all the time. It had just moved along and we had moved with it"
About this Quote
Simak takes the most ordinary phrase in the language - “another second gone” - and exposes it as a kind of cultural lie we tell ourselves to make time feel manageable. His move is slyly science-fictional: he doesn’t argue that time is precious or fleeting; he reframes “gone” as a category error. The second was never lost. It’s “the same one all the time,” a continuous medium we’re traveling through, not a stack of disposable units we’re burning.
That reversal matters because it shifts agency and blame. If time isn’t being taken from us, then our usual complaint - that life is slipping away - starts to sound like a defense mechanism. “Gone” implies theft, damage, irreversible loss. Simak’s line suggests the opposite: the only thing changing is our position. Time isn’t vanishing; we’re moving. The anxiety remains, but its target changes.
The repetition (“another minute and another hour and another day”) mimics the way we count down our lives: rhythmic, numbing, industrial. Then he punctures it with a calm corrective, almost like a physicist interrupting a superstition. Coming from a mid-century science fiction writer, the subtext is clear: modernity trains us to treat time as currency, but the cosmos doesn’t share our accounting. Simak isn’t offering comfort so much as a bracing clarification. The terror isn’t that time runs out; it’s that it keeps going, unbroken, and we go with it whether we’re paying attention or not.
That reversal matters because it shifts agency and blame. If time isn’t being taken from us, then our usual complaint - that life is slipping away - starts to sound like a defense mechanism. “Gone” implies theft, damage, irreversible loss. Simak’s line suggests the opposite: the only thing changing is our position. Time isn’t vanishing; we’re moving. The anxiety remains, but its target changes.
The repetition (“another minute and another hour and another day”) mimics the way we count down our lives: rhythmic, numbing, industrial. Then he punctures it with a calm corrective, almost like a physicist interrupting a superstition. Coming from a mid-century science fiction writer, the subtext is clear: modernity trains us to treat time as currency, but the cosmos doesn’t share our accounting. Simak isn’t offering comfort so much as a bracing clarification. The terror isn’t that time runs out; it’s that it keeps going, unbroken, and we go with it whether we’re paying attention or not.
Quote Details
| Topic | Time |
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