For the Elves the world moves, and it moves both very swift and very slow. Swift, because they themselves change little, and all else fleets by; it was a grief to them. Slow, because they do not count the running years, not for themselves. The passing seasons are but ripples ever repeated in the long, long stream.

*bows to the greatness of the great JRR Tolkien*

OH but it is so beautiful...