Quotes About Ephemeral

Don't waste the time. Time is the final currency, man. Not money, not power - it's time.

Heroing is one of the shortest-lived professions there is.

Being a hero is about the shortest-lived profession on Earth.

I hate flowers to death. What are they for? You cannot eat them. They die in a day. They are a complete waste of money.

Wij zijn als regendruppels die, tegen het raam van een voortrazende trein geblazen, met kleine rukjes verder kruipen; niemand kan precies voorspellen welke weg ze zullen volgen, al komen ze op den duur wel allemaal aan de rand van het glas terecht, om te vervloeien en te verdwijnen.

By contemplating the impermanence of everything in the world, we are forced to recognize that every time we do something could be the last time we do it, and this recognition can invest the things we do with a significance and intensity that would otherwise be absent.

By contemplating the impermanence of everything in the world, we are forced to recognize that every time we do something could be the last time we do it, and this recognition can invest the things we do with a significance and intensity that would otherwise be absent. We will no longer sleepwalk through our life.

Like Buddhists, Stoics advise us to contemplate the world's impermanence. "All things human," Seneca reminds us, "are short-lived and perishable."19

everything we value and the people we love will someday be lost to us. If nothing else, our own death will deprive us of them. More generally, we should keep in mind that any human activity that cannot be carried on indefinitely must have a final occurrence.

It terrifies me, the fragility of these moments in our lives.

Everything that's lovely is But a brief, dreamy kind of delight.

When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire a-flame, But something rustled on the floor, And someone called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossoms in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air. . . .

We and the labouring world are passing by: Amid men's souls, that waver and give place Like the pale waters in their wintry race, Under the passing stars, foam of the sky, Lives on this lonely face.

One had a lovely face, And two or three had charm, But charm and face were in vain Because the mountain grass Cannot but keep the form Where the mountain hare has lain. - Memory

Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream.

And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief;

Loveliest of lovely things are they, On earth, that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.

Our plesance here is all vain glory,This false world is but transitory.

Freedom is strangely ephemeral. It is something like breathing; one only becomes acutely aware of its importance when one is choking.

As dust that drives, as straws that blow,Into the night go one and all.

it strikes me that the spirit of the Fourth, this year, was used up by September's end and fell like an early leaf.

tried to hold the feeling but it was warm as new bath water and just as hard to hold.

Silently, like thoughts that come and go, the snowflakes fall, each one a gem.

But I am not going to live for ever. And the more I know it, the more amazed I am by being here at all.