And, subsequently, they feel obligated to stand in front of each piece for a certain length of time, to make faces as they observe and study the work, to walk slowly and methodically between pieces. I think very few of these people enjoy the art museum. They're simply pushing themselves through so they can say they were there. It's as if they're performing some kind of necessary maintainence on their souls. If you think about it, the only thing that is truly constant is time.
Time is a paradox.
We long for time to pass more quickly, yet we look back and remark how quickly it has slipped away. We doodle and daydream to waste extra time, and then we rush to make up for lost time. None of our lives would mean anything without time, yet time eventually gets the best of all of us. We dream of time machines, time standing still, or time repeating itself. But in the end, time moves at the same rate it always has and always will.