Quotes About Ephemerality

La Beauté finit en Laideur, le destin de la Jeunesse est d'être Flétrie, la Vie n'est qu'un lent Pourrissement, nous Mourons chaque Jour.

But where are the snows of yesteryear?

Death to me means nothing as long as I can die fast.

Buddhas move freely through birth and death, appearing and disappearing at will.

Dentro de mil años no quedará nada de cuanto se ha escrito en este siglo. Leerán frases sueltas, huellas de mujeres perdidas, fragmentos de niños inmóviles, tus ojos lentos y verdes simplemente no existirán. Será como la Antología Griega, aún más distante, como una playa en invierno para otro asombro y otra indiferencia.

There are ways of dying that don't end in funerals. Types of death you can't smell.

With each passing moment I'm becoming part of the past. There is no future for me, just the past steadily accumulating.

No one could say how long that life would last. Whatever has form can disappear in an instant.

You're here," I continued. "At least you look as if you're here. But maybe you aren't. Maybe it's just your shadow. The real you may be someplace else. Or maybe you already disappeared, a long, long time ago. I reach out my hand to see, but you've hidden yourself behind a cloud of probablys. Do you think we can go on like this forever?

But it's strange, isn't it? Eri said. What is? That amazing time in our lives is gone, and will never return. All the beautiful possibilities we had then have been swallowed up in the flow of time.

We keep moving. And as we do, the things around us, well, they disappear.

He wore Armani suits and drove a Jaguar, but finally he was just another ant, working and working until he died without meaning. The very fact that he existed in this world would eventually be forgotten. 'Such a shame, he was so young,' people might say. Or they might not.

Each and every moment, our bodies are on a one-way journey to collapse and deterioration, unable to turn back the clock. I close my eyes, I open them again, only to realize that in the interim so many things have vanished. Buffeted by the intense midnight winds, these things—some with names, some without—disappear without a trace. All that is left is a faint memory. Even memory, though, can hardly be relied on. Can anyone say for certain what really happened to us back then?

So this is how it is," I thought. "Time just slips away.

All things pass. None of us can manage to hold on to anything.

Nothing stayed still. And time was lost. Behind me, time became dead grains of sand, which one after another gave way and vanished.

Unsure how to answer, I took another grape. Time was no problem for me, but I wasn't eager to hear the long life story of a dwarf. And besides, this was a dream. It could evaporate any moment.

Time is free, but it's priceless. You can't own it, but you can use it. You can't keep it, but you can spend it. Once you've lost it you can never get it back.

Time is free, but its priceless You can't own it, but you can use it You can't keep it, but you can spend it Once you've lost it, you can never get it back.

the way Emily Dickinson meant when she wrote, "That it will never come again / Is what makes life so sweet.

As you get older, the days have gone, and the years have gone, and it's 'whoosh!'

Catch, then, O catch the transient hour; Improve each moment as it flies!

All things are only transitory.

Time is not outside us, but inside. Only we live with past, present, and future, and the present is too brief to experience anyway; it is retained afterward and then it is either codified or it slips into amnesia.