Quotes About Ephemeral

It means that money is ephemeral, moving from person to person," Hamood said. "It's a tool. Don't let it get into your heart or your soul." Mokhtar spent a year with Hamood

Time's Flying," said Dad. He Smiled. He pointed to the air. "There it is, flying past! Catch it!" And he jumped, and caught Time in his hands, and showed it to Lizzie. She took it from him, and threw it up again. "There it goes," she called. "Bye-bye. Bye-bye, Time!

flake hit the sidewalk and then melted almost immediately. Lancaster

yo también estoy de paso por esta vida, por eso no pierdo mi tiempo entreteniendo con cosas materiales y prefiero vivir humildemente.

a thing among things, its self's soul so much vapor aloft, falling as rain and then rising, the sun up and down like a yoyo.

The best ink for Vanity Fair use would be one that faded utterly in a couple of days, and left the paper clean and blank, so that you might write on it to somebody else.

Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues we write in water.

These sudden joys have sudden endings. They burn up in victory like fire and gunpowder.

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet Though to itself it only live and die

Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.

Some there be that shadow kiss; Such have but a shadow's bliss.

Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And, live we how we can, yet die we must.

Well, we were born to die.

A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent--sweet, not lasting; The perfume and suppliance of a minute; No more.

Brief as the lightning in the collied night; That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and Earth, And ere a man hath power to say Behold! The jaws of darkness do devour it up. So quick bright things come to confusion.

Swift as shadow, short as any dream

Had I but died an hour before this chance I had lived a blessed time; for from this instant There's nothing serious in mortality.             All is but toys, renown and grace is dead, The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.

A dream itself is but a shadow.

We strut and fret our hour upon the stage and then are no more.

But shall we wear these glories for a day? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?

The sands are number'd that make up my life.

There's nothing serious in mortality. All is but toys. Renown and grace is dead. The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.

Ciò che risplende fa così in fretta a svanire.

If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell rings and the widow weeps