Quotes About Ephemeral

Beauty is a short-lived tyranny.

I've never blown an ugly bubble. Never. They're all beautiful. They're like jewels, transient jewels.

Most books, after all, are ephemeral; their specifics, several years later, inspire about as much interest as daily battle reports from the Hundred Years' War.

Faded the flower and all its budded charms,Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise!Vanishd unseasonably

Like us many have spoken over this spring, but they were gone in the twinkling of an eye. We conquered the world with bravery and might, but we did not take it with us to the grave.

The empty blue sky of space says 'All this comes back to me, then goes again, and comes back again, then goes again, and I don't care, it still belongs to me

Time is a game played beautifully by children.

Our lives are like a candle in the wind.

Time flows away like the water in the river.

The beauty of things must be that they end.

Because some things are never meant to be anything more than a moment. And that was one of them.

Will the wind ever remember the names it has blown in the past? And with its crutch, its old age, and its wisdom, it whispers no this will be the last.

Sublime moments refracted, Even if only for seconds, Caught forever in your soul.

Su muerte fue como la de un grillo cuando llega el invierno y apaga su último canto».

A drunkard's words are gone by the next dawn.

We think of mortality so little these days... I thought of the stern Victorian determination to keep death in mind, the uncompromising tombstones. Remember, pilgrim, as you pass by, As you are now so once was I: As I am so will you be...

It makes the situation bloom with a seductive, ephemeral intimacy, like they're the last people left awake at a house party, caught up in a conversation that won't count tomorrow morning.

That girl in the photo isn't one solid person, feet set solidly in one irrevocable life; that girl is an illusive firework-burst made of light reflecting off a million different possibilities.

Remember, pilgrim, as you pass by, As you are now so once was I; As I am now so will you be.…

The bitterness of joy lies in the knowledge that it cannot last. Nor should joy last beyond a certain season, for, after that season, even joy would become merely habit.

How massively the mountains stand, while low to the ground the sand blows. The sand blows on and on. And then there are no mountains, none at all, the sand has kissed and whispered them away. And still, the sand blows on.

We are all dust All dying All losing All forgetting We are all leaving all the time

We are all dust.

Oh my son," sighed Ama. "I was talking to the shadows of the pomegranate trees. At least they will be here when we are all gone.