Quotes About Ephemeral

To-day man is, and to-morrow he will be seen no more. And being removed out of sight, quickly also he is out of mind. O the dulness and hardness of man's heart, which thinketh only of the present, and looketh not forward to the future. Thou oughtest in every deed and thought so to order thyself, as if thou wert to die this day.

What is lovely never dies, but passes into other loveliness, Star-dust, or sea-foam, flower or winged air.

There is no antidote against the opium of time, which temporally considereth all things: our fathers find their graves in our short memories, and sadly tell us how we may be buried in our survivors. Gravestones tell truth scarce forty years. Generations pass while some trees stand, and old families last not three oaks.

All things that have been in this world, all things that are or will be in it, have to vanish: we have our sad farewell to give them.

All glories of flesh vanish, and this, the glory of infantine beauty seen in the mirror of memory, soonest of all.

If we don't record our own history on the Net, it will disappear.

Trying to catch hold of yourself is a fool's errand. There is no you, only a series of former yous, created in one instant, deleted in the next.

It's very weird because the 'It' guy usually is not the 'It' guy next year or even a guy that anyone is talking about.

Katie habia aprendido que los instantes eran simplemente eso: una ilusion.

the stories were becoming just that: stories. The emotions attached to them were like sand castles in the tide, slowly washing out to sea.

Observe, in short, how transient and trivial is all mortal life; yesterday a drop of semen, tomorrow a handful of spice and ashes.

And I have to say, books haven't helped much with all this. Because whenever you read anything about love, whenever anyone tries to define it, there's always a state or an abstract noun, and I try to think of it like that. But actually, love is… Well, it's just you. And when you go, it's gone. Nothing abstract about it.

I thought: I didn't live forever.

The individual is ephemeral, races and nations come and pass away, but man remains.

I am a weak, ephemeral creature made of mud and dream. But I feel all the powers of the universe whirling within me.

By means of poetry all this suffering and effort could be transformed into dream; no matter how much of the ephemeral existed, poetry could immortalize it by turning it into song. Only two or three primitive passions had governed me until this time: fear, the struggle to conquer fear, and the yearning for freedom. But now two new passions were kindled inside me: beauty and the thirst for learning.

the totally satisfied Mother even in her insufferable pain because she feels that something immortal has issued from her ephemeral viscera.

Brother, when beauty falls into your hand, you hold on to it while you can. You could be dead tomorrow. Well, that's... inspiring.

Here doesn't lie CIan, for he's blown off with the wind. He lived and he died, then stayed on like the last annoying guest to leave the ball.

remember that nothing, good or ill, stays forever.

FOR A WEEK, THEN TWO, SHE WAS

Poets talk about "spots of time," but it is really fishermen who experience eternity compressed into a moment. No one can tell what a spot of time is until suddenly the whole world is a fish and the fish is gone.

I believe that time is like a train, with men hanging out in front of the engine and off the back of the caboose; the man in front is laying down new tracks the moment before the train touches them and the man in the caboose is tearing up the rails the moment they are passed. There is no linear continuation: The past disappears, the future is unimagined, and the present is ephemeral. It cannot be traversed.

The nineties were a golden age for metropolitan newspapers and glossy magazines, yet most copies were destroyed or recycled within a month and never converted to digital files. It was a decade of seeing absolutely everything before never seeing it again.