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A metaphysical tour de force of untethered meaning and involuting interlocking contrapuntal rhythms, 'The Clock' is more than a movie or even a work of art. It is so strange and other-ish that it becomes a stream-of-consciousness algorithm unto itself - something almost inhuman.

What interests me about clocks is that everything is hand-made, and yet to the person looking at the clock, something magical is happening that cannot be explained unless you are the clockmaker.

The clock, for all its precision in measurement, is a blunt instrument for the psyche and for society. Schedules can replace sensitivity to the mood of a moment, clock time can ride roughshod over the emotions of individuals.

Humans all want to beat the clock but nobody ever does.

You have to cherish things in a different way when you know the clock is ticking, you are under pressure.

When I'm in the midst of finishing a book, I can be working around the clock.

Having designed and built several clocks during my career it suddenly occurred to me that when you look at the face of a clock both hands have the same center.

The hands of every clock are shears, trimming us away scrap by scrap, and every time piece with a digital readout blinks us towards implosion.

I'll just tell you the way it is. You ask me what time it is and I'm gonna tell you how to build a clock.

The clock never stops, never stops, never waits. We're growing old. It's getting late.