Quotes About Ephemerality

Whatever else a photograph may be about, it is always about time.

The memory of everything is very soon overwhelmed in time.

Let us love the passing hour, let us hurry up and enjoy our time.

Ah! let us love, my Love, for Time is heartless, Be happy while you may!

Passing time isn't a steady thing. People try to measure it, but some days seem to have years packed into them, and others pass in the blink of an eye. Some days matter, and others don't.

Only see you when I close my eyes. We on borrowed time when I delayed the sunlight.

Killing time. Its a very crass and breezy expression when you ponder it for a moment, considering that time, after all, is killing us.

I don't have to kill myself, time is going to do that.

Time passes you say, But no! Alas, time is staying and we pass by.

Nothing is swifter than our years.

You are only young once. At the time it seems endless, and is gone in a flash; and then for a very long time you are old.

All the tragedies which we can imagine return in the end to the one and only tragedy: the passage of time.

Time was a face on the water, and like the great river before them, it did nothing but flow.

Time is a series of fluctuating variables.

Back then, when everybody thought the world would last forever, nobody had time for anything.

The past is past, the future unformed. There is only the moment, and that is where he prefers to be.

See the minutes, how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live.

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow.

The noiseless foot of Tune steals swiftly by And ere we dream of manhood, age is nigh.

It was a long time ago now. And it was yesterday.

Most of the time one night blends into the next and weeks blend into weeks and months into other months. And sooner or later we all die. But at the beginning of the night anything's possible.

Clothing left on the bed unfolded. Books stained with coffee spots. Tabs not paid until the last possible second. Boys kissed and then forgotten in a week's time.

You don't look back along time but down through it, like water. Sometimes this comes to the surface, sometimes that, sometimes nothing. Nothing goes away.

...and time becomes a forgotten detail.