Quotes About Ephemeral

I wish that I could put up yesterday's evening sky for all posterity, could preserve a night of love, the sound of a mountain stream, a realization as it sets my mind afire, a dance, a day of harmony, ten thousand glorious days of clouds that will instead vanish and never be seen again, line them up in jars where they might be admired in the interim and tasted again as needed.

sendero» en tibetano: shul, «una marca que permanece después de que pasa lo que la hizo;

An idyll like that wasn't made to last. For a while it was forever, and then things started to fall apart.

Utopia itself is rarely more than an ideal or an ephemeral pattern on which to shape the real possibilities before us.

we disgust works of art by our meaninglessness, our diffuseness in time which lets us drift through three score years and ten without a quarter as much significance as a picture establishes instantaneously

confer stillness upon it. We do not take moonlight for granted. It is like snow, or like the dew on a July morning. It does not reveal but changes what it covers. And its low intensity—so much lower than that of daylight—makes us conscious that it is something added to the down, to give it, for only a little time, a singular and marvelous quality that we should admire while we can, for soon it will be gone again.

beetle-spirited vaporing

Everyone has a place in history. Mine is clouds.

Nothing endures. Don't you see, Bonox? That's what Kipling meant. Not empires, not memories. We remember nothing. Maybe for a year or two. Maybe most of a life, if we live. Maybe. But then we will die, and who will ever understand any of this? And maybe we remember nothing most of all when we put our hands on our hearts and carry on about not forgetting.

If there's another thing that sportswriting teaches you, it is that there are no transcendent themes in life. In all cases things are here and they're over, and that has to be enough.

It was if we all sensed we'd be gone someday soon in a sudden instant--often it happened in the middle of the night--and didn't want to get involved. Or else it was that none of us wanted to know anybody later on who was the way we were now.

Against these forces -- an earth rotating, a sun lowering its angle in the sky, winds filling with rain and the geese arriving -- time is just a made-up thing, and recedes in importance, and should.

If there's another thing that sportswriting teaches you, it is that there are no transcendent themes in life. In all cases things are here and they're over, and that has to be enough. The other view is a lie of literature and the liberal arts, which is why I did not succeed as a teacher, and another reason I put my novel away in the drawer and have not taken it out.

What we thought of as personality was no more than the passing shape of one of the waves in front of me.

We live, we die, we are remembered, we are forgotten.

No sooner do we come into this world, than bits of us start to fall off.

And everything you do, or might achieve thereafter, is thinner, weaker, matters less. There is no echo coming back; no texture, no resonance, no depth of field.

deliquescent.

No sooner do we come into this world,' said Flaubert, 'than bits of us start to fall off.

He died little more than a hundred years ago, and all that remains of him is paper. Paper, ideas, phrases, metaphors, structured prose which turns into sound.

Vieni jausmai laik? pagreitina, kiti sul?tina, o kartais atrodo, kad jis dingsta - kol galop ateina akimirka, kai jis iš ties? dingsta ir jau niekada nebesugr?žta

She seemed fragile like a moonflower – destined to bloom for a single lovely night, and then to fade and fall.

His words were absorbed by the sand and blown by the wind, and there was no way of knowing how far they reached.

There is a rare gentleness in you, the sweeter for its brief appearances.