Quotes About Ephemeral

Él solía decir que existimos mientras alguien nos recuerda.

Uno se da cuenta del vacío en el que ha dejado pasar el tiempo hasta que vive de verdad. A veces la vida, no los días quemados, es solo un instante, un día, una semana o un mes.

because he had been born to be forgotten.

Sólo se quiere una vez en la vida, Julián, aunque uno no se dé cuenta

There's nothing that makes you so aware of the improvisation of human existence as a song unfinished. Or an old address book.

And now, as a summer flower shatters in September ,it was finished.

Twigs and beetles and dead body. Water and blood. You'll never get back.

I loved him, you know, but I have a theory about love. I think that, however good it is, some love isn't meant to be for ever.

The next best thing never last for too long

So that makes time more precious, doesn't it? More precious than money, more precious than anything. You can never earn more time. Once an hour goes by, a week, a month, a year, you'll never get them back.

Time is more precious than gold, more precious than diamonds, more precious than oil or any valuable treasures.

So that makes time more precious, doesn't it? More precious than money, more precious than anything. You can never earn more time. Once an hour goes by, a week, a month, a year, you'll never get them back.

Good laughs melt out of memory pretty quickly.

I will leave no memoirs.

I've always loved color because it's a little bit like music. I love that it seems to be both physical and ephemeral and engages us as a metaphor for our feeling lives.

What I did not want to be was a fad, because fads die. I had one of the George Michael Wham! neon-colored sweatshirts, and I thought it would never go out of style. Fads die.

My films are like clouds: their meaning keeps changing every minute.

We put something on Instagram, and it gets reposted, and it's everywhere, and a minute later it's gone, over. I don't see that as a negative thing; it's the way my mind works, too.

She was but a transient impression, half forgotten.

there was yet another date, of greater importance to her than those; that of her own death, when all these charms would had disappeared; a day which lay sly and unseen among all the other days of the year, giving no sign or sound when she annually passed over it; but not the less surely there

I should like the flowers very very much, if I didn't keep on thinking they'd be all withered in a few days!

Her face too was fresh in colour, but it was of a totally different quality - soft and evanescent, like the light under a heap of rose-petals.

She suddenly thought one afternoon, when looking in the glass at her fairness, that there was yet another date, of greater importance to her than those; that of her own death, when all these charms would have disappeared; a day which lay sly and unseen and among all the other days of the year, giving no sign or sound when she annually passed over it; but not the less surely there. When was it? Why did she not feel the chill of each yearly encounter with such a cold relation?

The season developed and matured. Another year's instalment of flowers, leaves, nightingales, thrushes, finches, and such ephemeral creatures, took up their positions where only a year ago others had stood in their place when these were nothing more than germs and inorganic particles.