Quotes About Ephemeral

Palmira. She's like an apparition floating unknowingly into her future,' I said. 'Here for too brief a time.

was gone, suddenly and irretrievably, like a zephyr shooting into the night sky, leaving a trail of moonlit particles that swirled in brief, unspeakable beauty, and then faded into nothing.

like a zephyr shooting into the night sky, leaving a trail of moonlit particles that swirled in brief, unspeakable beauty, and then faded into nothing.

Why did joy bring the same tears as sadness? Why did the throat and chest ache with fire, regardless? Was it because, deep down, everyone knew it was fragile and ephemeral? Did the tears come from the knowledge that everything could turn in the blink of an eye?

The moments of life are ephemeral and unpredictable. We must capture the best ones and keep them safe in our hearts.

She had been a comet; and her blazing descent through dark skies had been plain for all to see.

For the duration of its collective life, or the time during which its identity may be assumed, each class resembles a hotel or an omnibus, always full, but always of different people.

Yet each day that touches us, and every man in the world, is unique; irredeemable; over. And just another Monday.

I've been given an amazing opportunity and I could not be more grateful. But I also know that all this will eventually die off. It's not real. It will go away and then you'll go away and then, I don't know, I'll be left sitting in some English hotel room.

We are here to prepare for not being here.

Y el pequeño tocador donde ya no queda sino un solo frasco que no sostiene sino polvo endurecido sobre una sustancia seca y transparente como resina mineralizada en la que quedó encerrada y conservada una mariposa nocturna para materializar y preservar la imagen del revolotear sin causa.

La Otra Carla le ha mostrado una verdad irrebatible: La vida no es nada. Sólo un fogonazo entre dos negruras infinitas.

La mañana entera, con su cuerpo incluso que la atraviesa desplazándose sobre las baldosas grises, y el yo impalpable y ubicuo que lleva adentro, desaparecen detrás de las imágenes que, ya casi definitivas, son, aunque vengan de la memoria, intemporales, y más indestructibles, podría decirse, que el aliento y la carne que las contienen.

Por delicadas que sean, las mañanas envilecen; lo destructible vacila y lo que pareciera, frente a nosotros, perdurar, no nos acoge, menos cruel que indiferente.

Nothing can last forever. There isn't any memory, no matter how intense, that doesn't fade out at last.

What would you have me do, Odo? We're all terminal cases. Even our cultures. Even our worlds. A hundred years for an individual and he's gone, only a memory for a hundred more, at most. Perhaps longer if he's someone to whom they build statues. But after a thousand years, whom do we really remember?

Precious Child... nothing matters but the moment. There might be no tomorrow and even if there is, nobody gives a damn.

But the world of the eye is causing us to live increasingly in a perpetual present, flattened by speed and simultaneity. Visual images have become commodities, as Harvey points out: 'a rush of images from different spaces almost simultaneously, collapsing the world's spaces into a series of images on a television screen […] the image of places and spaces becomes as open to production and ephemeral use as any other [commodity].

We are born at the rise of the curtain and we die with its fall, and every night in the presence of our patrons we write our new creation, and every night it is blotted out forever; and of what use is it to say to audience or to critic, Ah, but you should have seen me last Tuesday?

There are moments when everything goes well; don't be frightened, it won't last.

There are no friends; only moments of friendship.

For a flicker of a moment our gazes held, sweet and tormented.

Can the beautiful be sad? Is beauty inseparable from the ephemeral and hence from mourning? Or else is the beautiful object the one that tirelessly returns following destructions and wars in order to bear witness that there is survival after death, that immortality is possible?

Tonight I am transformed," she whispered. "Tomorrow I shall disappear." Benedict drew her close and dropped the softest, most fleeting of kisses onto her brow. "Then we must pack a lifetime into this very night.