Quotes About Ephemeral

The eyes of men love to pluck the blossoms from the faded flowers they turn away.

For thogh we slepe, or wake, or rome, or ryde, Ay fleeth the tyme; it nyl no man abyde.

The deeds of men, as footprints in the desert. Nothing under the circling moons is fated to last. Even the sun goes down.

A mass of dust, world's momentary slave, Is man, in state of our old Adam made, Soon born to die, soon flourishing to fade.

Men of genius are meteors destined to burn themselves out in lighting up their age.

Men pass in front of our eyes like butterflies, creatures of a brief season. We love them; they are brave, proud, beautiful, and clever.

We are things of a day. What are we? What are we not? The shadow of a dream is man, no more.

Such is the frailty of man that even where he makes the truest and most forcible impression in the memory, in the heart of his beloved, there also he must perish.

Man is a transitory being, and his designs must partake of the imperfections their author.

History is a great cemetery: men, deeds, ideas are always dying as soon as they are born.

Lustre of man walking proud beneath the sky diminishes to nothing and goes unregarded.

Man's wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.

We are all dead men on leave.

There's no beauty without poignancy and there's no poignancy without the feeling that it's going, men, names, books, houses--bound for dust--mortal--

Like flowers scattered in a storm, a man's life is a long farewell.

Fame is a food that dead men eat, I have no stomach for such meat.

How beautiful it is and how easily it can be broken.

The interval is immense between corporeal qualifications and sciences: the body in a moment is extinct, but knowledge endureth to the end of time.

What falls away is always. And is near.

Bright youth passes swiftly as a thought.

It was that feeling of not being able to quite capture it, not being able to commit the moment, the feeling, to memory because it was too fleeting. She

I can't explain it. It's so, I don't know. Fleeting. Ephemeral." "You're analyzing sex?" He sounded amused. "Why not?" "Women analyze to death. Sometimes it's better not to think about things too deeply." She

Sic transit gloria mundi [So passes away the glory of this world].

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi (Thus passes the glory of the world).