Quotes About Ephemeral

Everything is so fast now, everything is so disposable now, there's no time to build up a career like we used to have in the past.

No matter how ephemeral it is, a novel is something, while despair is nothing.

Celebrity nowadays is so fleeting.

We are born, we live, we disappear. One of the chilling aspects of history is the swiftness with which it carries us into oblivion.

I have a habit of getting very obsessive about one thing, but it usually lasts no more than three days.

I think it's quite obvious my work is made by a woman, because I have never wanted to make anything that is not ephemeral. But I definitely want to be thought of as an artist first.

Ali što ?emo s Dvorcem u oblacima? Možda je on ipak važan. (...) Neka ga vjetar nosi, odgovorila je Smisla. I sretan mu put, dodala je Mjera, jer bez obzira koliko bio lijep, on je ipak samo zatvor.

Mil cosas solicitan a la vez nuestra atención y ninguna de ellas logra retenernos; así la vida se nos vuelve arena entre los dedos y las horas humo en el cerebro.

I came like water, and like wind I go

love that blooms this fast is just as fast to wither

Don't worry—love that blooms this fast is just as fast to wither

What we learned from these painstakingly detailed miniatures was how ephemeral all those ancient lives had been, how quickly they'd all been forgotten, and how vain we were to think that we could grasp the meaning of life and history by learning a handful of facts.

In those moments, he would realize that this city where he'd spent forty years of his life, where he'd passed through thousands and thousands of doors, getting to know the insides of people's homes, was no less an ephemeral thing than the life he'd lived there and the memories he'd made.

Someday stars will wind down or blow up. Someday death will cover us all like the water of a lake and perhaps nothing will ever come to the surface to show that we were ever there. But we WERE there, and during the time we lived, we were alive. That's the truth - what is, what was, what will be - not what could be, what should have been, what never can be.

Me? I'm nothing. I'm a fart in the air conditioning. I'm always there, but most of the time nobody knows it.

The ship was there. It was there, and still there, unmoving, unchanged. And then it was gone.

Our works in stone, in paint, in print, are spared, some of them, for a few decades or a millennium or two, but everything must finally fall in war, or wear away into the ultimate and universal ash - the triumphs, the frauds, the treasures and the fakes. A fact of life: we're going to die. Be of good heart, cry the dead artists out of the living past. Our songs will all be silenced, but what of it? Go on singing. Maybe a man's name doesn't matter all that much.

Some things are more precious because they don't last long.

They spoil every romance by trying to make it last forever.

We seldom know what we're hearing when we hear something for the first time, but one thing is certain: we hear it as we will never hear it again. We return to the moment to experience it, I suppose, but we can never really find it, only its memory, the faintest imprint of what it really was, what it meant.

Time flows away like the water in the river.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to nonsignificance.

The passing of armies and the passing of sands in the desert are one.

There was someone there and they had been there. There was no one there. There was someone there and they had been there and they had not left but there was no one there.